THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


SELF-MADE; 


OR, 


LIVING    FOR    THOSE    WE    LOVE. 


BY 


MRS.  E.  A.  WELTY. 


"An  honest  tale  speeds  best  being  plainly  told," 


NEW  YORK  : 
SHELDON    AND     COMPANY, 

498  AND  500  BROADWAY. 

BOSTON :  GOULD  AND  LINCOLN. 

1868. 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1868,  by 
SHELDON  AND  COMPANY, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States 
for  the  Southern  District  of  New  York. 


Stereotyped  at  the  Boston  Stereotype  Foundiy, 
No.  4  Spring  Lane. 


TO 

MY    NUMEROUS    AND    BELOVED 
NAMESAKES 


ARE  AFFECTIONATELY  DEDICATED. 


1201552 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTEB  PAGK 

I.  THE  WIDOW  AND  HER  SON.        .       .        .        .        .7 

II.  THE  GRAVEYARD  ON  THE  HILL.      .        •        .  •     .         15 

III.  THE  OLD  SCHOOL-HOUSE.      .        .        ...        .18 

IV.  THE  CHRISTMAS  PARTY  AT  SQUIRE  BROWN'S.       .         23 
V.  NETTIE  NOT  INVITED.   .        .        .        •  "     .       _.        .42 

VI.  SAM  MAYNARD  CALLED  TO  AN  ACCOUNT.       .        .        54 

VII.  DEACON  SLOPER'S  MEMORIES  AND  ANTICIPATIONS.  .    61 

VIII.  A  NEW  YEAR'S  PARTY  AT  MRS.  SLOPER'S.   .        .         72 

IX.  A  FORTUNE-TELLER  COMES  TO  THE  PARTY.       .        .    77 

X.  NETTIE'S  ASPIRATIONS.    .        ...        .        .         90 

XI.  GRACE  PEARSON  AND  MARK  HAVE  A  QUIET  CHAT.  .    93 

XII.  LITTLE  JANE  FALLS  ASLEEP.    .        .        .        .        .       101 

XIII.  A  ROMANTIC  WALK  TO  REAL  LIFE 114 

XIV.  Miss  PEARSON  IN  THE  HOUSE  OF  MOURNING.      .       125 
XV.  THE  WATCHERS  IN  THE  DARKENED  COTTAGE.          .  133 

XVI.    MARK  LEAVES  HOME .        ,       139 

XVII.  THE  WANDERER  PLAYS  THE  GOOD  SAMARITAN.        .  146 

XVIII.  THE  YOUNG  STRANGER  AT  MR.  NEWELL'S  HOUSE.        159 

XIX.    MARK  PROLONGS  HIS  STAY. 168 

XX.  WHAT  is  PASSING  AT  SORRELTOWN  MEANWHILE.       175 

XXI.  LETTERS  AND  PRESENTS.     .        .        .        .        .        .  184 

(5) 


6  CONTENTS. 

XXII.  MR.  NEWELL  AND  MARK  GO  TO  NEW  YORK.        .       197 

XXIII.  BUSINESS  LIFE  IN  ALBANY. 207 

XXIV.  THE  GOVERNOR'S  RECEPTION.          ....       220 
XXV.  COLLEGE  LIFE 230 

XXVI.  NETTIE  STRANGE  AND  HER  MOTHERLESS  CHARGE.     241 

XXVII.  MARK  MILLER  is  ELECTED  SENATOR.         .        .        .  254 

XXVIII.  HIS  TRIUMPHAL    RETURN    TO  HIS   NATIVE  VILLAGE.     260 

XXIX.  OLD  ACQUAINTANCE  NOT  FORGOTTEN.        .        .        .  266 

XXX.  THE  FIRST  LOVE  is  THE  LAST  LOVE.     .       .       .      273 


SELF-MADE. 


CHAPTER   I. 
THE  WIDOW  AND  HER  SON. 

"  I  need  not  say  how,  one  by  one, 

Love's  flowers  have  dropped  from  off  love's  chain : 
Enough  to  say  that  they  are  gone, 
And  that  they  cannot  bloom  again." 

Miss  LANDON. 

"  Home  is  the  sphere  of  harmony  and  peace, 
The  spot  where  angels  find  a  resting-place." 

MRS.  HALE. 

was  midwinter,  and  all  day  long  had  the  stiff 
drops  pattered  against  the  pane.  All  day  long 
had  the  widow  Miller  sat  at  the  one  low  window 
in  her  dark  little  cottage,  occasionally  raising  her 
tear-stained  eyes,  and  sending  their  dim  light  out  over  the 
dreary  waste  of  snow,  which  began  to  fall  in  thick,  heavy 
masses,  shrouding  the  tallest  trees  with  a  mantle  as  pure 
and  white  as  an  angel  wears,  and  bending  to  the  earth  the 
tiniest  sprays  with  the  weight  of  their  soft,  fleecy  burden. 

While  she  counted  the  beads  in  memory's  rosary,  her  tears 
flowed  fast,  and  her  fingers  moved  with  less  alacrity  over 
the  coarse  garment  she  was  making.  Now  and  then,  as  the 


8  SELF-MADE,    OR 

silent  depths  of  memory  were  stirred  within,  a  great  sob 
escaping,  that  seemed,  to  keep  it  down  in  her  heart  longer, 
would  be  to  break  it.  It  was  her  fortieth  birthday — the 
day,  too,  when,  five  years  ago,  a  path  was  made,  in  the  deep 
snow,  from  her  doorstep  to  the  graveyard  over  the  hill. 
Care  and  trouble  had  forestalled  age  in  furrowing  her  once 
beautiful  features,  and  silvering  her  once  glossy  hair.  The 
mild  light  of  those  eyes  that  once  shone  with  the  placid 
expression  of  a  Madonna's  'had  been  dimmed  by  tears  more 
than  by  the  alternations  of  time.  Hers  had  been  a  life  of 
sorrow  and  suffering ;  no  train  of  obedient  pleasures  waited 
around  her.  From  her  very  girlhood  she  had  been  the  kind 
and  patient  companion  of  an  invalid  and  decrepit  father, 
breathing  an  atmosphere  of  want,  and  grief,  and  fear,  and 
the  paths  to  the  graves  of  her  loved  ones  were  well  beaten, 
and  strewed  with  few  flowers. 

One  by  one  were  the  dark  pictures,  which  the  death-angel 
had  hung  in  the  "  twilight  gallery  of  memory,"  turned  to 
the  light,  dusted  of  all  that  dimmed  their  olden  brightness ; 
and  then  was  summoned  to  her  presence  the  semblance  of 
those  fair  beings  who  filled  her  heart  with  the  holy  sentiment 
of  love,  or  mpved  it  with  the  fiercer  storm  of  gi'ief. 

Darker  and  darker  hang  the  clouds  above  the  cottage ;  the 
wind  moaned  piteously,  and  the  snow  beat  drearily  against 
the  panes ;  and  far  down  in  the  depths  of  that  heart,  un- 
known to  any  but  herself,  lies  the  remembrance  of  her  early 
love.  How  simply,  and  yet  how  earnestly,  he  had  loved  her, 
the  chosen  of  her  youth,  the  father  of  her  children  !  How 
steadily  he  seems  to  look  at  her,  with  those  mild  eyes,  as  in 
years  agone,  ere  they  faded  under  the  film  of  death  !  And 
then  another  form  rises  out  of  the  shadows,  and  gazes  upon 
her  so  tenderly.  How  beautiful  she  is  !  —  the  very  type  of 
innocent  and  lovely  childhood.  Heaven's  own  blue  is  not 
purer  than  those  liquid  eyes,  as  she  looks  up  from  that  little 
chair  yonder,  which  she  has  consecrated  by  her  touch.  Her 


LIVING   FOR    THOSE   WE    LOVE.  9 

golden  hair  seems  like  the  radiance  which  floats  around  the 
infant  Immanuel's  head  ;  and  as  the  dim  outlines  fade  into 
space,  the  mother's  thought  pursues  that  loved  form  along 
its  angel  track,  until  from  her  heart  to  the  innermost  sanc- 
tuary above  there  seems  a.  pathway  paved  with  the  visible 
glory  of  God. 

The  storm  has  lulled  for  a  moment,  the  elements  are 
calmed,  and  the  cloud  rolls  heavily  away  from  the  widow's 
heart,  and  faith,  that  keeps  watch  with  her  through  the  mental 
storm,  sheds  a  halo  of  light  over  the  brow  of  her  dead,  and 
the  voice  that  never  murmurs  beneath  the  allotments  of  God 
is  raised  in  a  humble  prayer  of  thankfulness,  that  one  great 
blessing  is  still  left. 

She  wonders  why  Mark  does  not  come  :  it  is  getting  late  ; 
the  snow  is  towering  high  above  the  wood-pile,  and  old 
Brindle  has  stood  shivering  in  the  sleet  since  morning,  often 
sending  forth  a  pitiful  mo-o-o-o,  as  though  she  cannot  under- 
stand the  reason  of  the  pitiless  storm.  Poor  "  Bossy !  " 
There  are  many  heads  as  white  with  the  snows  of  time  as 
yours  is  with  the  snows  of  to-day,  which  have  been  sorely 
taxed  wTith  a  similar  problem.  It  is  not  given  to  us  to  know 
the  deep  mysteries  of  the  kingdom  of  heaven,  or  God's  deal- 
ings with  us.  In  his  own  appointed  time  the  Christian  spirit 
will  meet  with  its  reward,  and  over  her  night  of  sorrows 
stars  shall  arise,  and  she  will  walk  by  their  heavenly  light. 

The  lifting  of  the  gate-latch,  and  Mark's  cheerful  voice,  as 
he  jocosely  talked  to  Brindle  about  the  snow-storm,  caused  a 
sudden  glow  to  overspread  the  widow's  features,  and  again 
the  old  calm  brooded  over  them  as  before.  Yes,  the  world 
had  one  bright  spot  left,  and  the  sky  an  expanse  of  blue ; 
amid  the  darkness  and  the  dews  that  fell  so  thick  around 
her,  one  star  shed  its  serene  lustre  over  the  horizon  of  her 
heart. 

"You  are  late  to-night,  Mark,"  said  his  mother,  as  she 
handed  him  the  bright  tin  milk-pail  from  the  dresser,  at  the 


1O  SELF-MADE,   OR      , 

same  time  relieving  his  shoulder  of  a  bag  of  corn,  and 
depositing  it  in  the  doorway.  "  I  thought  you  would  jiave 
been  home  sooner,  as  the  night  was  coming  on  so  cold." 

"  Yes,  I  know ;  but  I  wanted  to  finish  my  job,  as  it  is 
Saturday.  You  know  I  commence  thrashing  for  Mr. 
Sloper  on  Monday,  and  though  I've  had  to  work  pretty 
hard  this  week,  I've  got  something  to  show  for  it,  and 
that's  more  than  I  always  have." 

So  saying,  he  took  the  pail  and  went  out,  whistling  a 
merry  tune,  while  the  widow  prepared  their  frugal  evening 
meal. 

After  the  tea  things  were  cleared  away,  and  the  cheerful 
fire  beamed  brightly  throughout  the  little  cottage,  the  fitful 
flashes  of  the  burning  wood  danced  over  the  walls,  making 
Mark's  plump  cheeks  shine  with  a  ruddy  glow,  as  if  health 
and  contentment  had  taken  a  life-long  lease  of  his  manly 
frame. 

"  O,  it  will  be  capital  sleighing  by  Monday,  and  I  hear 
the  boys  are  talking  of  a  grand  sleigh-ride  out  to  the  '  Cor- 
ners.' You'll  get  my  new  coat  done  for  me  to  wear  —  won't 
you,  mother?" 

"  O,  yes,  my  son,  the  coat  shall  be  finished  if  I  have  to 
sit  up  all  night ;  you  haven't  seen  it  since  I  put  the  buttons 
on."  And  stepping  to  the  chest  in  the  corner,  which  an- 
swered for  bureau  and  wardrobe,  she  brought  forth  the 
half-finished  coat,  of  brown  domestic  cloth,  the  product 
of  her  own  spindle  and  loom,  and  displayed  to  Mark's 
admiring  gaze  the  double  rows  of  shining  brass  buttons, 
and,  trying  on  the  sleeves  to  see  if  they  were  too  long  or 
too  short,  asked,  "Do  you  think  it  will  suit?" 

"Suit?  Why,  it  fits  like  a  '  TV  How  nice  you  have  made 
the  button-holes !  and  this  stitching  is  as  fine  as  a  tailor  could 
do  it.  Why,  mother,  that  coat  will  be  nice  enough  to  wear 
to  a  wedding." 

And  so  it  appeared  in  the  eyes  of  Mark,  who  was  not 


LIVING  FOR   THOSE   WE   LOVE.  IX 

accustomed,  as  you  may  suppose,  to  many  of  the  refined 
elegances  of  life.  A  new  coat,  although  it  was  coarse  and 
homespun,  cut,  and  fitted,  and  made  by  no  artist's  hand, 
was  to  him  a  matter  of  as  much  moment  as  the  purple 
robes  of  kings  and  popes.  His  was  no  connoisseur's  eye,  to 
detect  the  flaws,  if  any  there  had  been,  in  either  the  quality 
of  the  cloth  or  the  making  up ;  indeed  he,  thought  this  a 
very  superior  garment,  "  most  too  good  to  wear  every  day." 

And  so  the  mother  and  son  sat  by  the  bright  fire,  —  which^ 
was  made  of  large  logs,  and  needed  no  replenishing,  —  and  , 
chatted  pleasantly  of  the  coat,  their  week's  labor,  the  coming 
holidays,  and  Lizzy  Brown's  Christmas  party;  and  then 
Mark  looked  in  his  mother's  face,  which  had  assumed  an 
unwonted  cheerfulness,  saying,  — 

"  Mother,  this  is  your  birthday :  had  you  forgotten  it?" 

"  No,  my  son,  but  I  was  beginning  to  think  you  had." 

"  Did  you,  indeed?    You  shall  see  !  " 

And  tripping  lightly  to  the  bag  of  corn,  still  remaining  by 
the  entry  door,  he  untied  the  string,  and  taking  out  a  small 
bundle  from  the  "  sack's  mouth,"  he  held  up  to  his  mother's 
view  a  nice,  warm  shawl ;  and  before  she  could  express  her 
surprise,  or  venture  a  word  of  disapprobation,  he  had  laid  it 
over  her  shoulders,  and  then,  perking  saucily  around,  gave 
her  cheek  a  smacking  kiss,  that  told  a  whole  story  of  love 
an.d  devotion. 

"  There,  you  see  I  was  not  the  undutiful  son  you  thought 
me." 

"  Why,  Mark !  Surely  it  was  not  in  this  way  I  hoped,  or 
wished,  to  be  remembered." 

"  I  could  not  very  well  reconcile  myself  to  the  thought  of 
wearing  a  new  suit  of  broadcloth,  while  you  were  obliged 
to  stay  away  from  church  for  the  want  of  a  respectable' 
shawl.  It  was  only  four  dollars.  Mr.  Rawson  threw  ofi*1 
half  a  dollar,  and  that,  together  with  this  half  pound  of  teai 
just  made  up  the  sum  that  was  coming  to  me." 


12  SELF-MADE,    OR 

"  But  where  are  your  new  Arithmetic,  and  Grammar,  and 
writing  paper  to  come  from  ?  You  know  you  cannot  com- 
mence going  to  school  without  the  books." 

"  True ;  but  I  have  agreed  to  cut  some  cord-wood  for  Mr. 
Jones,  and  Hugh  Weeks  is  to  give  me  half  a  dollar  for  my 
skates,  and  the  two  fat  turkeys  at  Christmas  will  bring 
more  than  enough  for  these." 

"  I  hope  there  will  be  no  necessity  for  parting  with  your 
skates,  Mark ;  it  will  be  fine  skating  when  the  snow  drifts 
off  the  pond.  I  love  to  see  you  take  the  lead  among  the 
boys  while  enjoying  this  healthful  sport.  There  is  the  money 
Mrs.  Maynard  owes  me  for  weaving,  which  will  probably  be 
paid  soon,  though  I  am  ashamed  to  ask  for  it  again,  as  it  is 
a  debt  of  such  long  standing." 

"  Yes,  and  she  had  the  impertinence  to  ask  you  to  spin 
her  flax  and  warp  that  piece  of  linen  before  she  paid  you  for 
the  weaving  of  last  year.  I  am  glad  you  refused :  some 
people  have  no  souls,  and  I  think  Mrs.  Maynard  one  of  that 
class.  By  the  way,  her  son  '  hopeful '  and  his  sister  Helen 
arrived  to-day  from  Albany.  I  suppose  they  are  home  to 
spend  the  holiday  vacation.  I  happened  to  be  standing  at 
the  store  corner  when  they  passed,  and  raised  my  cap  ;  but 
they  were  so  bundled  up  in  their  furs,  I  suppose  they  did  not 
see  me  ;  at  least,  they  did  not  recognize  their  old  friend.  I 
think  they  have  brought  company  with  them,  for  there  were 
two  ladies  in  the  sleigh." 

"  She  is  probably  some  schoolmate  come  to  pass  the  holi- 
days with  them." 

"  She  is  pretty,  at  all  events  ;  for  I  saw  her  sparkling  black 
eyes,  full  of  mirth  and  intelligence,  and  her  rosy  cheeks  and 
lips,  and  long  dark  curls,  fluttering  in  the  wind,  as  they  drove 
slowly  past.  She  nodded  gracefully  to  my  salutation,  stran- 
ger as  I  was.  I  am  sure  she  has  a  good  heart,  whoever  she 
is.  Though  it  is  queer  Sam  didn't  know  me.  I  wonder  if 
he  is  not  putting  on  airs." 


LIVING   FOR   THOSE   WE   LOVE.  13 

"  O,  no,  I  think  not.  You  were  always  good  friends  be- 
fore he  went  away,  especially  after  you  risked  your  life  res- 
cuing him  from  his  perilous  situation  in  the  pond  when  his 
boat  upset,  and  you  came  near  being  drowned  yourself." 

"  Yes,  I  had  hard  work  to  keep  his  head  and  my  own 
above  water  until  help  came.  Pie  wouldn't  let  go  of  me 
and  give  me  a  chance  to  swim,  but  clung  to  me  like  a 
drowning  girl.  The  boys  always  laughed  at  him  because 
he  was  too  great  a  coward  to  learn  to  swim.  And,  mother, 
do  you  remember  the  skating  frolic  we  had  three  years  ago, 
when,  in  trying  to  trip  up  one  of  his  competitors  in  the  race, 
he  fell,  and  nearly  broke  his  skull  ?  I've  heard  it  whispered 
that  his  head  was  never  the  soundest,  but  after  that  accident 
it  seemed  there  was  a  soft  spot  somewhere."  A  right  merry 
peal  of  laughter  now  rang  through  the  room,  interrupted  by 
a  gentle  reproof  from  his  mother. 

Then  followed  a  long  silence  in  the  quiet  little  cottage, 
broken  only  by  the  tick  of  the  old-fashioned  clock,  which 
was  nailed  against  the  wall,  and  the  sonorous  breathing  of 
Jowler,  who  lay  stretched  at  his  ease  on  the  ample  hearth. 
The  pleasant  fire-light  flashed  upon  the  bright  tin  pans  on 
the  dresser,  and  the  white  dimity  curtains  around  the  bed, 
aad  the  small  mirror  hanging  over  the  spare  table.  That 
glass  was  in  a  frame  as  bright  as  paint  and  varnish  could 
make  it :  years  agone  it  had  reflected  the  infantine  features 
of  Mrs.  Miller,  as  well  as  those  of  her  brothers  and  sisters, 
and  was  a  part  of  her  wedding  portion.  On  the  table  was  a 
spread  of  snowy  whiteness,  with  long  netted  fringe  depend- 
ing midway  to  the  floor.  The  old  family  Bible,  and  a  few 
quaint-looking  volumes,  which  comprised  the  library,  and  a 
pair  of  shining  brass  candlesticks,  not  used  for  common, 
were  the  ornamental  part  of  the  household  furniture. 

A  yawn  from  Mark  and  the  hour  of  ten  struck  simul- 
taneously on  the  widow's  ear.  Then  the  Bible  was  taken 
carefully  from  its  resting-place  under  the  mirror,  and  a 


14  SELF-MADE,    OR 

psalm  was  read,  and  they  bowed  down  in  prayer  together. 
Did  not  angels  hover  over  the  family  altar  to  waft  to  the 
heavenly  Father  the  tender  words  of  gratitude,  and  trust, 
and  hope,  which  fell  from  the  poor  widow's  lips? 

"  Are  you  asleep?  "  said  my  aunt  Bessie,  as  she  gave  me 
a  slight  nudge,  to  know  if  I  had  been  an  attentive  listener. 

"  Wide  awake,  and  very  much  interested  with  your  '  nar- 
rative.' Go  on,  please." 

"  No  ;  it  is  getting  late,  and  the  fire  is  almost  out ;  so  give 
me  your  good-night  kiss,  darling." 

"  But  you  did  not  commence  at  the  beginning.  I  want  to 
know  all  about  Sorrel  Hill,  and  its  inhabitants." 

"  Well,  to-morrow  evening  we  will  begin  the  story  anew." 

"  And  I  will  remember  where  you  left  off  this  evening. 
So  good  night,  dear  aunt  Bessie." 

"  Good  night,  my  dear,  and  God  bless  you." 


LIVING   FOR   THOSE   WE   LOVE.  15 


CHAPTER   II. 
THE  GRAVEYARD  ON  THE  HILL. 

"  Our  vales  are  sweet  with  fern  and  rose, 

Our  hills  are  maple-crowned ; 
But  not  from  these  our  fathers  chose 
The  village  burying-ground." 

WHITTIER. 

)RREL  HILL,  my  dear,  —  your  mother's  and  my 
own  birthplace,  —  was  in  one  of  the  loveliest  val- 
leys the  sun  ever  shone  upon.  It  was  a  pleasant 
little  town,  sloping  gently  down  the  hill-side  to 
the  creek's  brink.  A  "  meeting-house  "  was  one  of  the  first 
objects  that  caught  the  traveller's  eye  as  he  approached  the 
village.  It  was  an  edifice  possessing  little  architectural 
beauty,  and  yet  its  plain  outline  appeared  as  a  great  index 
pointing  towards  heaven.  There  was  a  mill-pond  at  one 
end  of  the  little  town,  and  a  graveyard  at  the  other.  Not 
that  the  one  was  an  essential  adjunct  to  the  other,  for  we  had 
little  sickness,  and  the  funerals  were  so  far  apart  that  we 
almost  forgot  what  one  was  like.  But  still  there  was  a 
graveyard,  far  away  through  the  meadows  of  green  and 
white  clover,  and  over  the  little  stony  mound,  where  we 
used  to  go  to  hunt  for  snail-shells  and  periwinkles,  and 
where  the  sheep  and  kine  wandered  at  will,  cropping  the 
blades  of  stunted  grass  and  tufts  of  wild  wood-sorrel,  that 
grew  in  great  abundance,  and  from  which,  I  suppose,  the 
town  must  have  received  its  name,  and,  at  its  christening, 
its  bright  new  dress  of  red  and  green,  with  flowers  of  May- 
weed for  its  border. 


jg  SELF-MADE,   OR 

A  gaudy  dress  was  that,  donned  in  leafy  June,  when  all 
the  world  seemed  burdened  with  its  wealth  of  floral  glories, 
and  worn  with  becoming  grace  and  dignity,  until  the  sun's 
bright  rays  had  faded  its  rich  tints,  and  blended  with  them 
a  sober,  misty  gray,  to,  be  succeeded  by  as  pure  and  beauti- 
ful a  white  as  was  ever  worn  by  maiden  bride. 

On  the  western  slope  of  the  hill-side,  where  the  sun  sank 
behind  the  tall  tree-tops  when  five  o'clock  came,  burnishing 
with  golden  glory  the  yellow  leaves  of  autumn,  or  warming 
into  life  the  fragile  buds  of  spring,  with  its  few  silent  inhab- 
itants, lying  side  by  side  among  the  wild  trumpet-creepers, 
and  the  dear  little  blue-and-white  flowers  that  I  never  knew 
any  name  for.  It  seemed  as  if  the  angels  must  have  planted 
them  there,  for  people  did  not  then,  as  now,  adorn  and  beau- 
tify their  burial-places  with  all  that  art,  and  taste,  and  affection 
can  devise.  Save  a  few  native  trees,  left  to  grow  untrimmed 
and  shapeless,  there  was  not  an  ornament  within  the  little 
paled  enclosure.  O,  I  would  not  like  my  grave  to  be  in  a 
place  too  dark  and  gloomy  for  the  bright  flowers  to  live  in, 
flowers  first,  pruned  and  tended  by  the  hands  I  have  clasped 
confidingly  in  my  own,  and  then  a  willow  to  spread  its  green 
arms  over  me.  Don't  interrupt  me  now  with  your  "  What 
difference  does  it  make?  "  It  does  make  a  difference  ;  for  it 
seems  to  me  the  dead  can  see,  and  know  where  they  are 
lying,  whether  thick  mists,  and  silence,  and  darkness  rest 
upon  the  sod  that  covers  them,  and  the  place  gainsays 
the  good  man's  tale,  that  "  the  grave  is  a  desirable  goal," 
or  whether  over  their  face  fall  the  sweet  night-drops  of 
heaven,  distilled  from  the  rose's  leaf  or  the  willow's  stem. 
There  you  are  again  with  your  conjectures.  "  Guess 
spirits  have  something  else  to  think  about  besides  rose- 
bushes and  dew-drops."  Well,  it  may  be,  and  you  are 
privileged  to  theorize  as  you  like ;  but  I  never  lay  a  flower 
upon  the  graves  of  departed  friends  but  I  imagine  it  brings 
them  to  my  side  at  once  ;  and  the  simple  tribute  exhales  a 
perfume  sweeter  than  that  of  roses  or  odors  of  spices  and 


LIVING   FOR   THOSE   WE   LOVE.  1>J 

gums  burned  in  religious  rites.  The  offerings  of  the  heart 
are  sweeter  and  holier  than  the  censer's  breath,  and  that 
little  heap  of  dust  a  shrine  at  which  love  pays  homage  to 
departed  worth. 

It  seems  as  if  the  flowers  changed  hands  merely,  —  that 
their  spiritual  presence  can  be  felt  and  enjoyed,  and  that 
even  the  thoughts  of  my  heart  can  be  discerned  by  them. 
I  do  believe  they  know  the  thoughts  we  cherish  of  their 
memory,  —  whether  their  love  is  the  inner  temple  of  the 
soul,  and  none  other  earthly  hath  power  to  invade  the  sanc- 
tuary ;  or  whether,  if  they  could  come  back  to  us,  we  would 
not  cling  to  some  new  object,  whom  we  have  learned  to  love 
since  they  went  away. 

Bright  shone  the  sun  upon  the  hallowed  graves,  and  softer 
seemed  the  moonlight  that  fell  along  the  green  mounds  which 
hid  the  loved  ones  from  our  gaze.  Hushed  was  the  voice  of 
merriment  when  the  hill-top  was  gained  ;  and  though  the  black- 
berries that  skirted  the  sacred  enclosure  were  large  and  lus- 
cious, they  were  picked  in  silence^,  or  in  reverential  whispers, 
and,  as  if  by  mutual  consent,  not  a  squirrel  or  butterfly  was 
ever  chased  beyond  the  enchanted  boundary.  The  little 
whitc-and-blue  flowers  that  turned  their  tiny  faces  up  to  the 
bright  sky,  were  indeed  emblems  of  the  dear  dust  they  cov- 
ered—  too  fair  and  fragile  for  the  fierce  heat  of  midsummer, 
or  the  chill  breath  of  autumn,  that  made  so  merry  with  the 
silken  drapery  of  their  less  frail  sisterhood.  They  seemed 
well  content  to  bloom  in  this  silent  solitude,  where  none  ever 
came  to  admire  them,  bending  their  graceful  heads  to  the 
earth  as  if  a  consciousness  of  the  fleeting  nature  of  all  beau- 
tiful things  had  taught  them  humility.  And  when  their  lives 
were  spent,  they  calmly  shrunk  into  their  beds  of  dusky  um- 
brage ;  but  every  year  they  came,  testifying  with  their  con- 
stant breath  to  the  truth,  that  "  if  a  man  die,  he  shall  live 
again." 


l8  SELF-MADE.   OR 


CHAPTER   III. 
THE  OLD  SCHOOL-HOUSE. 

"  The  dusky  walls 

Hold  the  fair  germ  of  knowledge,  and  the  tree, 
Glorious  in  beauty,  golden  with  its  fruits, 
To  this  low  school-house  traces  back  its  life." 

STREET. 

FAMILY  wound  the  little  rivulet  along,  which, 
at  this  point,  could  be  spanned  by  my  pony's 
bridle.  But  a  mile  below  was  the  large  mill- 
pond,  at  once  the  pride  and  profit  of  our  village. 
A  strong  contrast  marked  the  two  extremes  ;  for  all  day  long, 
and  far  into  night,  might  be  heard  the  busy  humdrum  of 
machinery,  or  the  sharp  click-clack  of  the  water-wheel  that 
propelled  it.  It  was  here  where  the  farmers  for  miles  around 
came  to  get  their  milling  done ;  here,  too,  the  industrious 
smith  labored  at  the  bellows,  and  the  ringing  sound  of  the 
anvil  kept  time  to  the  lighter  but  none  the  less  energetic 
stroke  of  the  cooper's  hammer.  The  cooper  was  contigu- 
ous to  the  smith,  and  the  smith  to  the  wagon-maker,  and 
the  wagon-maker  to  the  carpenter  and  the  shoemaker  ;  and 
then  came,  in  regular  succession,  Deacon  Sloper's  barn,  with 
its  great  perpendicular  gables,  and  the  lightning-rod  in  the 
centre,  of  which  we  youngsters'  stood  very  much  in  awe. 
But  not  so  with  the  painted  weather-cock,  which,  we  were 
told,  always  crowed  when  he  heard  others  crow !  This 
mystery  it  took  years  to  solve.  Then  there  was  "  Uncle  " 
Gilbert's  cider-mill,  and  the  widow  Miller's  log  cabin,  with 


LIVING   FOR   THOSE   WE   LOVE.  19 

its  one  window  front,  and  the  blue  smoke  from  the  stone 
chimney  curling  up  above  the  green  tree-tops  before  her 
better-to-do  neighbors  had  left  their  downy  couches. 

This  was  "Main  Street;"  but  farther  back,  under  the 
graceful  maples  and  tall  poplar  trees,  were  nestled  many 
snug  little  cottages,  with  their  shining  coats  of  red  and 
white  glistening  in  the  sun,  and  several  there  were  that 
rejoiced  in  the  aristocratic  appendage  of  green  blinds  to 
their  front  windows.  Then  there  were  venerable-looking 
barns  to  each,  hay-ricks,  corn-cribs,  and  milk-houses,  which 
all  helped  to  give  Sorreltown,  or  "  Sorrel  Hill,"  as  it  was 
sometimes  called,  quite  an  air  of  thrift  and  rivalry  ;  at  least 
we  thought  so,  who  had  never  been  farther  from  home  than 
Weedsport  or  Scrabble  Hollow. 

The  old  brown  school-house  —  good  old  Alma  Mater  of  us 
all  that  she  was  —  had  weathered  the  storms  of  a  quarter  of 
a  century,  and  witnessed  as  many  revolutions  and  final  abdi- 
cations of  nearly  that  number  of  pedagogues,  who  were  so 
unfortunate  as  to  be  appointed  by  the  selectmen  to  assume 
the  dictatorship  of  the  young  and  rebel  portion  of  our  little 
republic.  Sometimes  their  revolts  amounted  to  actual  anar- 
chy for  a  whole  day,  especially  when  the  snow  was  soft  and 
warm,  in  prime  order  for  pelting  ducks  and  geese,  or  when 
the  ice  on  the  mill-pond  lay  like  sheets  of  silver  glistening  in 
the  midday  sun,  or  the  sleds  had  a  charmed  existence, 
wooing  their  impatient  owners  away  from  the  dull  routine 
of  school-life.  How  could  they  work  within  doors,  when 
the  rafters  of  heaven  were  bending  low  without,  with  such  a 
vast  expanse  of  blue  sky  unbroken  by  a  single  cloud,  and 
the  mellow  moonlight,  with  its  soft  and  soothing  shades 
calling  to  them  in  language  more  eloquent  than  "  Kirkham  " 
or  "Daboll"  could  possibly  employ?  They  believed,  with 
the  wise  man  who  searched  to  know  all  wisdom,  that  "  much 
study  is  a  weariness,"  and  no  voice  is  so  enticing  as  the  voice 


2O  SELF-MADE,    OR. 

of  nature :  hers  it  was  that  often  charmed  them  to  their  ruin  ; 
for  if  the  master  happened  to  be  an  autocrat  of  the  old  school, 
woe  to  the  delinquent  subject  who  dared  question  his  author- 
ity or  disobey  his  mandates.  They  were  sure  to  "  feel  the 
thorn  pierce  through  their  gathered  flowers."  But  if — as 
was  once  or  twice  the  case  during  my  school-days  in  Sorrel- 
town —  he  was  a  republican  in  feeling  and  principle,  and 
had  a  heart  in  the  right  place ;  if  his  justice  was  tempered 
with  mercy ;  if  his  ferule  was  swayed  with  less  of  passion 
and  ire  than  equity  and  humanity ;  then  were  his  subjects 
loyal,  and  if  they  occasionally  suffered  for  their  follies,  they 
knew  that  it  was  love  that  corrected  them. 

The  only  blow  I  ever  received  in  school  was  inflicted 
under  that  roof.  It  was  made  with  a  broad  ruler  upon  my 
little  bare  shoulder,  and  never  shall  I  forget  the  pain,  and 
shame,  and  fright  of  that  moment  —  never,  though  my  head 
should  be  whitened  with  the  snows  of  ages !  It  was  for  a 
fault  I  did  not  commit.  My  tears  were  of  no  avail,  and  I 
was  too  much  a  child  and  too  terrified  to  explain.  The 
master  had  been  whipping  all  day,  without  discriminating 
between  the  deserving  and  the  undesei'ving ;  and  when  the 
freak  took  him,  very  few  were  so  fortunate  as  to  escape. 
His  name  was  Whipple,  —  I  wish  I  could  remember  the 
whole  of  it.  He  must  be  an  old  man  now  ;  and  I  have 
sometimes  thought  I  would  not  give  him  a  night's  lodging 
in  my  house  to  shelter  him  from  the  fiercest  storm  that  ever 
blew.  But  a  moment's  thought  has  at  such  times  made  me 
feel  more  hospitable,  and  recalled  the  precepts  and  example 
of  the  Great  Teacher.  I  should  not  foster  an  unkind  thought 
towards  my  worst  enemy,  but  spread  the  mantle  of  charity 
over  his  faults,  as  I  would  others  should  do  to  mine.  We 
heard,  years  afterwards,  that  he  had  married  a  meek,  blue- 
eyed  little  creature,  whom  he  won  away  from  a  father's  lov- 
ing heart,  which  it  nearly  broke,  and  that,  after  two  years 


LIVING   FOR  THOSE   WE   LOVE.  21 

of  neglect  and  ill-treatment,  she  returned  alone  to  the  ark  of 
rest  which  had  sheltered  her  sweet  childhood  from  the  waves 
of  sorrow  that  had  deluged  her  bride-life. 

The  old  school-house  stood  a  good  distance  from  all  the 
rest,  within  a  neat  enclosure ;  and  with  the  time-honored 
structure  are  associated  a  tall  "  liberty-pole  "  and  huge  piles 
of  cord-wood,  arranged  on  either  side  of  the  door.  They 
were  obliged  to  splice  the  liberty-pole,  I  remember,  for 
very  large  timber  did  not  grow  around  Sorreltown ;  and 
(let  me  say  to  you  in  a  whisper,  dear  reader),  as  in  the  nat- 
ural, so  in  the  mental  world.  It  seems  the  fact  got  abroad, 
and  became  a  maxim  in  the  neighbourhood.  We  had  our 
"selectmen,"  our  "justice,"  and  "  pathmaster,"  it  is  true; 
but  when  a  judge  or  a  governor  was  to  be  made,  or  a 
congressman  to  be  manufactured,  the  knowing  ones  some- 
how never  came"  to  Sorreltown  for  the  timber !  But 
some  noble  scions  have  sprung  up  from  the  old  stock 
of  home-made  fathers  and  mothers,  who  have  become 
"bright  and  shining  lights"  in  the  world!  Many  sons 
and  daughters  of  intelligence  and  genius,  who  have  since 
occupied  proud  and  conspicuous  stations  nn  life,  as  me- 
chanics, lawyers,  merchants,  clergymen,  orators,  authors, 
and  artists,  drew  their  infant  breath  among  the  hills 

and  vales  of  old  county,  of  which  "  our  village  " 

formed  an  inconsiderable  part. 

Perhaps  I  may  look  with  a  too  partial  eye  upon  the  place 
of  my  birth  :  if  so,  it  is  a  good  fault ;  but  I  would  ask  any 
wanderer  from  this  Eden  if  in  all  his  journeyings  he  has 
found  a  more  quiet  or  beautiful  home.  It  seems  to  me 
the  sun  never  shone  upon  a  fairer  or  more  picturesque 
region. 

I  cannot  recount  to  you  the  steps  of  progress  made  by 
all  the  young  aspirants  for  fame.  I  will  simply  relate  the 
freaks  of  fortune  as  connected  with  one,  or  perhaps  two, 


22  SELF-MADE,   OR 

who  stood  side  by  side  with  me  on  the  lower  round  of  the 
*'  ladder  of  learning."  .  • 

They  have,  many  of  them,  far  outstripped  their  humble 
contemporary ;  and  it  is  with  a  feeling  of  pride  that  she 
gazes  aloft  upon  the  bright  stars  which  shed  lustre  upon 
one  whose  radius  is  smaller  and  dimmer  than  theirs. 


LIVING  FOR  THOSE  WE  LOVE.  23 


CHAPTER   IV. 

THE  CHRISTMAS  PARTY  AT  SQUIRE  BROWN'S. 

"  There  is  strength 

Deep  bedded  in  our  hearts,  of  which  we  reck 
But  little  till  the  shafts  of  heaven  have  pierced 
Its  fragile  dwelling.     Must  not  earth  be  rent 
Before  her  gems  are  found  ?  " 

MRS.  HEMANS. 


ELCOME,  Christmas,  merry  Christmas,  the  great 
jubilee  of  the  Christian  world  !  How  full  of  joy 
and  thanksgiving  and  good  wishes,  how  incalcu- 
lably rich  in  gifts,  how  replete  with  peace  and 
good  will  to  all,  is  this  day,  which  calls  to  mind  the  manger 
and  the  sheepfold,  the  virgin  mother  and  her  divine  Son, 
for  whom  there  was  no  room  in  the  inn ! 

The  poor  labourer,  toiling  for  a  pittance,  is  not  so  poor  in 
spirit,  or  so  devoid  of  human  sympathy,  as  not  to  allow 
himself  to  share  in  the  general  rejoicing ;  and  the  man  of 
wealth  and  worldly  cares,  whose  social  life  is  hidden  during 
the  whole  busy  year,  now  folds  up  the  record  of  his  accu- 
mulated stores,  turns  the  key  on  his  golden  gains  and  the 
austerity  of  his  nature.  To-day  his  heart  is  young  again ; 
he  never  once  thinks  of  the  wrinkles  which  the  circling  years 
have  furrowed  upon  his  cheek,  or  of  the  snows  that  lie  thin 
and  white  upon  his  brow.  His  step,  though  less  firm  and 
elastic,  has  something  of  youthful  sprightliness  in  it,  because 
he  is  homeward  bound,  to  mingle  in  the  gay  festivities,  the 
delightful  scenes,  to  which  the  happy  season  invites  him,  or 


24  SELF-MADE,    OR 

perchance  to  join  in  the  youthful  sport  of  those  who  have 
long  since  looked  upon  him  as  superannuated. 

O,  if  there  is  a  spark  of  love  and  humanity  in  the  breast, 
let  it  shine  out,  at  least  on  Christmas  ;  count  your  saddened 
thoughts  among  the  years  that  are  gone ;  skip  over  the 
seeming  ills  which  have  risen  to  bar  your  entrance  to  pros- 
perity or  preferment,  and  let  your  spirit  rejoice  in  the  present 
good,  and  your  heart-harp  vibrate  joyfully  to  the  olden  song 
of  the  angels  over  the  fields  of  Bethlehem. 

Bright  and  cheerily  shone  the  morning  sun  upon  the  little 
village  under  the  hill  that  lay  embedded,  as  it  were,  in  the 
soft,  white  snow.  Soon  the  eaves  began  to  drop  their  tears 
of  joy,  and  the  snow  to  settle  in  a  compact  mass  upon  the 
ground.  The  fleecy  cones  that  decked  the  half-foliaged 
trees  and  garden  shrubs  had  flashed  their  short-lived  radi- 
ance, leaving  brown  and  desolate  the  long  boughs  that  but 
the  night  before  had  bloomed  in  icy  whiteness.  The  town 
is  all  astir,  the  roads  alive  with  busy,  bustling  youngsters. 
There  is  not  one  of  all  the  jolly  throng  but  has  donned  a 
holiday  suit  in  honor  of  the  "  Merry  Christinas." 

While  the  fathers  and  grandfathers,  mothers  and  grand- 
mothers, maiden  aunts  and  bachelor  uncles,  are  interchan- 
ging social  greetings,  and  discussing  the  merits  of  the  turkeys 
which  have  rendered  up  their  lives  with  a  noble  self-sacrificing 
ambition,  the  younger  ones  are  intent  on  the  more  animated 
part  of  the  evening's  entertainment. 

Lizzie  Brown's  party  is  to  come  off  to-night,  and  it  is  full 
five  miles  to  the  "  Corners,"  where  Squire  Brown  resides. 
And  so  sleighs  are  being  fitted  up  in  grand  style,  that  will 
hold  a  dozen  or  more  ;  and  cutters  are  skimming  through  the 
streets  in  quest  of  fair  occupants  ;  and  bells  are  jingling  here 
and  there,  and  everywhere  ;  and  the  living  cargoes  of  youth 
and  loveliness  are  soon  in  their  respective  seats,  impatient  to 
be  away. 

All  are  in  high  spirits,  and  their  mingled  voices  of  merri- 


LIVING   FOR   THOSE   WE    LOVE.  25 

ment  grate  harshly  on  the  ear  of  Mark  Miller,  as,  with 
folded  hands,  he  silently  sees  load  after  load  of  happy,  joy- 
ous hearts  dash  past,  making  the  clear  air  ring  with  their 
united  peals  of  laughter. 

"  Go  it,  Mark  !  "  said  one,  as  he  gave  his  whip  a  flourish  ; 
and  the  sharp,  ringing  crack  that  followed  sent  his  horses  far 
ahead  of  his  competitors. 

"  Put  in  your  best  licks  !  "  shouted  another  ;  little  thinking 
of  the  keen  pang  his  careless  words  caused  to  shoot  through 
Mark's  heart. 

"  Hurra-a-a-a  ! "  cried  a  third,  as  his  light  cutter  dashed 
furiously  past ;  and  soon  the  ringing  of  the  bells  and  the 
music  of  happy  voices  were  borne  back  on  the  cold,  still  air  ; 
and  then,  as  he  turned  to  resume  his  work,  tears,  large  and 
heavy,  dropped  on  the  sheaf  of  corn  he  was  husking. 

Mark  had  not  been  invited.  Contrary  to  his  expectations 
and  glowing  hopes  of  being  among  the  happy  guests  at 
Squire  Brown's,  he  found  himself  almost  the  only  one  whose 
name  had  been  omitted  in  the  list  of  invitations.  For  two 
days  his  mind  alternated  between  hope  and  fear.  Thinking 
there  might  be  some  mistake,  he  ventured  to  inquire  con- 
cerning it,  but  was  told  that  all  the  "cards"  were  dis- 
tributed. 

This  was  on  the  evening  previous  ;  and  it  was  with  feel- 
ings little  short  of  desperation  that  he  reached  his  little  attic 
without  having  betrayed  any  sign  of  the  distress  he  felt. 
While  in  his  mother's  presence  he  suppressed  his  agonized 
feelings  with  a  fortitude  worthy  of  a  better  cause.  Now  his 
high-wrought  imagination  pictured  himself  fatherless,  friend- 
less, and  alone,  with  no  one  to  advise  him  in  this  hour 
of  sore  trial. 

"  I  do  not  deserve  this,"  said  he,  mentally  ;  "  I  am  as  good 
as  the  best  of  them,  if  I  am  poor ; "  and  again  the  tears 
flowed  fast,  and  great  sobs  choked  his  utterance.  Work  he 
could  not ;  and  he  gave  thes"e  harrowing  thoughts  free  scope 


26  SELF-MADE,    OR 

until  the  tide  of  grief  had  spent  its  force,  and  ebbed  slowly 
back  upon  his  heart,  freighted  with  shame  and  pride. 

"  These  tears  are  unmanly,"  said  he ;  "  and  my  mother 
must  not  see  their  traces  on  my  cheeks.  Work  is  only  for  us  ! 
Yes,  we  must  'work!"  and  he  resolutely  resumed  his  task. 
Again  and  again  he  found  himself  absorbed  in  thought,  and 
the  pile  of  corn  at  his  side  increasing  very  slowly.  His 
fixed,  stern  gaze  on  the  blank  barn-door  before  him,  and  a 
resolute  compression  of  the  lips,  manifested  the  strugglings 
of  a  strong  spirit,  and  some  mighty  warfare  going  on  within, 
which  must  soon  resolve  itself  into  action. 

"  Perhaps  it  will  not  always  be  so,"  he  murmured,  half 
audibly ;  and  then  an  ominous  shake  of  the  head  showed 
his  thoughts,  whatever  they  were,  to  be  very  extravagant 
ones. 

A  long  time  he  sat  thus,  resolving  and  doubting ;  his 
changing  countenance  now  lighted  up  with  hope,  and  then 
the  old  frown  and  look  of  deep  despair,  proved  there  were 
obstacles  in  the  way  of  his  high  resolve.  What  thoughts 
rioted  in  his  heart,  even  his  mother,  —  from  whom  no  thought 
of  his  was  hidden,  —  had  she  been  there,  could  not  have 
guessed.  He  felt,  for  the  first  time,  the  powers  of  manhood 
nerving  his  arm,  and  the  strength  of  a  determined  will  grad- 
ually undermining  the  difficulties  that  seemed  to  lie  along  his 
future  pathway.  A  long  time  he  sat  with  his  head  resting 
on  his  hands,  his  tattered  handkerchief  being  brought  into  fre- 
quent use  in  wiping  away  the  drops  of  grief  which,  in  spite 
of  all  his  manly  resolves,  would  betray  the  strong  emotions 
of  his  soul.  The  bright  afternoon  was  passing  away,  and  the 
excitement  under  which  he  labored  had,  in  a  measure,  sub- 
sided, and  he  was  able  to  think  calmly  on  his  future  course 
of  action. 

"  This  is  no  place  for  me,  and  my  poor  mother  works  far 
beyond  her  strength.  I  am  now  old  enough  to  do  a  man's 
work,  and  all  last  summer  I  kept  up  with  the  best  of  the 


LIVING   FOR   THOSE    WE   LOVE.  2>J 

field  hands ;  but  '  boy's  wages '  only  were  given  me,  and 
grudgingly,  too,  I  thought. 

"  I  must  seek  among  strangers  that  aid  and  sympathy 
which  are  denied  me  here.  I  will,  in  the  first  place,  get  an 
education,  independently  of  any  other  resource  than  what 
my  own  hands  can  carve  out  for  me ;  others  have  done  it, 
and  why  not  I? 

"  Thei-e  are  many  self-made  men  in  the  world,  who, 
according  to  their  own  confessions,  were  considered  no 
smarter  boys  than  common  —  rather  below  par,  than  other- 
wise. Who  was  it?  Some  great  man  has  said  he  always 
stood  at  the  foot  of  his  class  when  a  boy ;  and  that  is  what  I 
do  not,  long  at  a  time.  There  are  few  boys  in  this  little 
'  burgh '  that  can  outstrip  me  in  anything,  and  /'//  make 
them  take  off  their  hats  to  me  yet  I"  Springing  to  his 
feet  as  he  gave  a  strong  emphasis  to  these  last  words,  he 
lifted  his  slouched  cap  from  his  head,  and  dashed  it  to  the 
ground,  as  if  the  act  would  ratify  the  treaty  of  peace  he  had 
made  with  the  conflicting  elements  of  his  mind,  and  give  an 
additional  impetus  to  his  resolution. 

It  was  now  about  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  and  Mark 
had  shovelled  the  corn  he  had  been  husking  into  one  of  the 
large  bins  in  the  granary,  and  pitched  the  stalks  over  into 
the  haymow,  and  was  preparing  to  go  home,  when  the  barn- 
door was  swung  open,  and  his  employer,  Deacon  Sloper, 
entered. 

"  Why,  Mark,  you  at  work  to-day,  when  all  the  rest  are 
at  play !  How's  this  ?  Why  did  you  not  go  to  the  sleigh- 
ride?" 

"  I  was  not  invited,  sir." 

"Not  invited!  I  thought  the  invitations  were  general. 
I  am  sure  that  was  the  intention  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Brown. 
Who  gave  out  the  invitations?" 

"  I  believe  a  list  was  sent  to  Sam  Maynard,  and  it  appears 
my  name  was  not  on  it ;  so,  of  course,  I  was  not  wanted. 


28  SELF-MADE,    OR 

*• 

Perhaps  they  thought  my  clothes  were  not  good  enough ; 
but  I  have  a  new  suit,  as  good  as  the  best  of  'em."  A 
slight  trembling  of  the  lips,  and  the  huskiness  of  his  voice, 
betrayed  to  the  practised  eye  and  ear  of  his  auditor  how 
great  were  his  chagrin  and  disappointment. 

"  I  will  inquire  into  this.  Depend  upon  it,  there  is  some 
mistake  somewhere,"  said  the  good  old  man,  in  whose 
breast  was  a  heart  as  warm  and  full  of  Christian  kindness 
as  ever  beat. 

Seating  himself  on  some  bags  of  wheat  which  leaned 
against  the  side  of  the  barn,  and  motioning  Mark  to  a  seat 
on  the  half-bushel  by  his  side,  he  began,  in  a  round-about 
way,  to  elicit  from  Mark  some  information  in  regard  to  his 
present  necessities  and  future  prospects. 

He  was  a  large  man,  rough  in  his  outer  appearance,  and 
oftentimes  in  his  speech,  but  kind  and  benevolent  when  his 
sympathies  were  enlisted.  He  was  not  a  Pharisee,  yet  strict 
in  the  observance  of  all  the  rites  of  the  Christain  faith. 
\yhat  he  believed  to  be  the  doctrines  of  the  gospel  were  the 
rules  by  which  his  life  was  governed.  It  was  the  strangest 
thing  on  earth,  he  said,  why  people  could  not  always  do 
right,  speak  right,  and  think  right.  He  fulfilled  the  letter 
of  the  law  in  ordering  his  own  household  aright ;  was  the 
husband  of  one  wife,  although  he  remembered  that,  away 
back  in  the  early  history  of  his  Christian  pilgrimage,  the 
grave  had  closed  over  a  gentle  and  lovely  being  who  had 
borne  his  name  and  slept  in  his  arms  but  two  short 
summers. 

The  gentler  qualities  of  his  nature  seemed  to  have  taken 
their  flight  with  the  pure  spirit  that  for  five  years  had  held 
his  own  in  sweet  and  sacred  bondage.  Then,  in  course  of 
time,  he  took  unto  himself  another  wife,  who  proved,  in 
some  respects,  a  counterpart  of  the  first,  though  the  neighbors 
all  wondered  how  it  ever  came  about,  he  was  so  stern  and 
austere,  while  the  wife  was  so  sprightly  and  good-natured  ; 


LIVING   FOR    THOSE   WE   LOVE.  2Q 

and  they  augured  that  no  good  would  come  of  it.  But  some- 
how each  fell  into  the  other's  habits,  and  ways  of  thinking, 
and  acting,  until  in  time  they  were  quite  well  balanced  in 
mind  and  disposition  ;  and  he  would  smile  at  her  lively  sal- 
lies of  wit  and  humour,  and  she,  thinking,  perhaps,  so  much 
frolicking  and  gayety  unbecoming  in  a  deacon's  wife,  would 
check  her  somewhat  ardent  love  for  the  ludicrous.  So,  as 
the  years  went  by,  the  stern,  uncongenial  spirit  of  the  one, 
subdued  by  trials  in  part,  was  softened  into  a  sociable  and 
pleasant  companion ;  and  the  other,  without  her  happiness 
being  in  the  least  diminished,  was  calm  and  even-tempered, 
the  meek  graces  of  the  true  Christian  adorning  her  life  and 
inspiring  the  respect  and  confidence  of  all  who  knew  her. 
Without  seeming  to  notice  Mark's  discomfiture,  the  deacon 
said,  — 

"  And  so  you've  been  at  work  here  all  this  pleasant  day ! " 

"  I  have  not  worked  all  day ;  I  could  not." 

"  Where's  your  mother?" 

"  At  home,  sir." 

"  Not  been  out  to  dinner  anywhere?" 

"  No,  sir." 

"  Suppose  you're  going  to  have  a  turkey  at  home." 

"  No,  sir  ;  we  had  only  two  fit  to  kill,  and  I  sold  both  of 
them." 

"Got  any  left?" 

"  Yes,  sir ;  some  young  ones,  for  next  year's  brooding." 

"  Got  any  corn  to  feed  'em  on  ?  " 

"  O,  yes,  sir ;  plenty.  You  know,  deacon,  I'm  never  idle  ; 
and  as  I  take  part  of  my  pay  in  grain,  we  have  always  plen- 
ty to  eat,  and  to  feed  our  stock  with.  By  the  way,  Mr.  Slo- 
per,  can't  I  sell  you  that  young  heifer  of  mine  ?  She  will  be 
two  years  old  in  the  spring,  and  is  as  fat  as  butter." 

"  What  on  earth  do  you  want  to  sell  her  for?" 

"  I  wish  to  raise  a  little  money,  if  I  can." 

"  Owe  some  little  store  bill,  I  suppose." 


3O  SELF-MADE,    OR 

"  No,  sir ;  we  owe  no  man  a  dollar." 

"What  then?" 

"  I  think  of  leaving  Sorreltown  in  the  spring,  and  shall  want 
a  little  spending  money  until  I  can  get  something  to  do." 

"  What  on  earth  put  that  into  your  head  ?  and  where  ai'e 
you  going?"  said  the  deacon,  looking  up  in  perfect  aston- 
ishment. 

"  I  have  not  fully  determined  as  to  where  I  shall  go,  and 
can  hardly  tell  what  first  induced  me  to  entertain  the  idea ; 
a  train  of  circumstances  which  perhaps  only  needed  the  little 
incidents  we  have  been  speaking  of,  to  bring  my  half-formed 
resolution  to  maturity.  Perhaps  )^ou  will  aid  me  with  your 
kind  advice,  before  I  make  up  my  mind  as  to  my  future  em- 
ployment ;  I  should  rely  upon  your  judgment,  and  be  sorry 
to  do  anything  at  variance  with  your  wishes." 

"  Why,  if  you  want  to  learn  a  trade,  you  needn't  go  away 
from  home  to  do  that.  I  ain't  sure  but  Mr.  Ganyard  would 
take  you  into  the  mill ;  he  was  telling  me,  the  other  day,  he 
.was  going  to  put  in  another  run  of  stones,  and  would  have 
to  hire  a  man  for  the  summer ;  but  whether  you  would  be 
stout  enough  to  handle  so  many  heavy  bags,  or  not,  is  a 
question  -in  my  mind." 

"  I  am  strong  enough  to  do  any  work  at  the  mill.  I  have 
done  a  man's  work  for  the  last  year,  but  I  haven't  received  a 
man's  wages  ;  besides,  fhere  is  not  work  enough  here  to  give 
me  steady  employment.  You  know  the  farmers,  as  a  gen- 
eral thing,  have  hands  enough  of  their  own,  except  it  may 
be  a  short  time  in  haying  and  harvest." 

"Yes,  I  know  it's  as  much  as  the  best  of  us  can  do  to  get 
along,  and  keep  clear  of  debt;  no  one  feels  able  to  hire 
much  ;  but  if  you  could  manage  to  putter  around,  and  do 
little  odd  jobs  for  one  and  another,  and  tend  mill  during  the 
busy  season,  I  think  it  would  be  better  than  tramping  off  on. 
an  uncertainty." 

"  I  think  I  should  not  suit  Mr.  Ganyard,  nor  he  me ;  be 
sides  —  " 


LIVING  FOR   THOSE   WE   LOVE.  31 

"Well,  I  think  you  are  a  little  too  honest  to  go  with  Gan- 
yard ;  but  you  could  soon  learn  to  take  as  much  toll  as  he 
does  —  couldn't  you?"  said  the  good  deacon,  ironically. 

"  I  shall  never  learn  to  be  dishonest,  if  I  starve  for  it," 
promptly  responded  Mark. 

"  Well  said,  my  brave  boy !  stick  to  that,  and  you'll  do 
well  enough  anywhere.  Your  father  was  an  honest  man 
before  you  ;  too  conscientious  for  his  own  good,  may  be. 
If  he  hadn't  a'  been,  you  might  have  owned  that  ten  acres 
where  Ganyard's  orchard  now  stands.  It's  a  pity  he  mort- 
gaged it  for  so  small  a  sum  ;  but  then,  poor  man,  he  was 
taken  sick  just  when  it  was  the  most  pinching  time  with  him. 
If  I  had  been  as  well  off  then  as  I  am  now,  he  never  should 
have  lost  it.  But  that's  neither  here  nor  there.  You  know  the 
whole  story,  and  it's  mighty  harrowing  to  your  feelings,  and 
mine  also,  to  call  it  up.  What  do  you  say  to  learning  the 
tanner's  trade?  There's  Simms,  that's  made  a  snug  little 
property  at  it.  When  he  first  came  to  Sorreltown,  he  hadn't 
ten  dollars  in  the  world.  I  think  you  might  do  worse  than 
learning  the  tannin'  business ;  and  if  you  say  so,  the  next 
time  I  go  down  to  the  '  Forks,'  I'll  speak  to  Simms  about  it." 

"  I  am  much  obliged  to  you,  Mr.  Sloper ;  but  I  had  an- 
other, and,  you  may  think,  a  less  commendable  project  in. 
view.  I  wish  to  get  an  education,  for  the  purpose  of 
making  it  available  for  my  future  support,  as  well  as  my 
mother's  when  she  is  infirm  and  aged,  and  possess  myself  of 
some  advantages  that  cannot  be  obtained  in  a  small  place 
like  this.  If  I  had  some  good  friend  to  recommend  me,  I 
think  I  might  find  a  place  in  the  city  where  I  could  make 
myself  useful,  and  compensate  any  one  who  would  be  so  kind 
as  to  receive  me  into  his  family." 

As  the  old  gentleman  looked  very  earnestly  at  Mark,  and 
listened  apparently  with  much  interest,  he  was  constrained 
to  proceed. 

"  If,  for  instance,  I  had  some  acquaintance  in  Albany,  who 


£2  SELF-MADE,   OR 

was  interested  in  my  welfare,  and  who  kept  a  man  to  take 
care  of  his  horse,  and  sweep  out  his  office —  " 

"  And  black  his  boots,  and  brush  his  clothes,  and  go  to 
market,"  interrupted  the  deacon. 

"  Yes,  even  that,"  replied  Mark,  emphatically  ;  "  I  would 
not  hesitate  to  do  anything  that  is  honorable  and  upright,  so 
I  could  pay  my  way ;  and  perhaps  in  time  I  could  do  copy- 
ing ;  and  who  knows  but  I  might  one  day  be  a  lawyer !  and 
prove  no  disparagement  to  my  preceptor  or  myself." 

"Well,  Mark,"  said  the  deacon,  with  a  long-drawn  sigh, 
"you  know  there's  a  great  many  ifs  in  the  way  of  one's  ad- 
vancement in  this  world.  If  I'd  had  anybody  to  boost  me 
up  there,  I'd  been  gov'nor  by  this  time.  I'm  a  smarter  man 
nat'rally  than  ever  Gov'nor  Worth  was.  You  see,  we  were 
brought  up  together,  and  I  ought  to  know  something  about 
it;  our  fathers'  farms  jined,  and  the  houses  didn't  stand 
twenty  rods  apart !  '  Now,  you  may  think  I  ought  to  feel 
proud  of  living  a  nigh  neighbour  to  a  family  that  raised  a  live 
gov'nor ;  but  he  wan't  gov'nor  then,  by  a  long  chalk  ;  we've 
had  many  a  '  set-to '  in  our  boyish  days,  and  we'll  have  an- 
other if  I  ever  catch  him  off  his  own  premises,  for  vetoing 
that  bill  about  the  canal-feeders. 

"Why,  it  was  the  most  ridiculous  thing  I  ever  heard  of. 
If  I'd  been  in  the  legislature,  he'd  got  a  piece  of  my  mind  ; 
and  he  did  as  it  was,  for  I  wrote  him  a  pretty  crusty  letter 
about  it.  And  he  always  thought  a  good  deal  of  my  opinion 
about  matters  and  things,  though  we  differ  in  politics. 
Mark,  just  throw  some  corn  over  to  those  pigs  —  will  you  ?  — 
and  see  if  it  won't  stop  their  squealing.  I  never  can  come 
nigh  this  barn  but  them  pigs  set  up  an  everlasting  racket !  " 

Mark  speedily  complied  with  the  deacon's  request,  but 
was  too  much  interested  in  his  conversation  to  wish  it 
dropped  ;  so  it  was  resumed  by  his  asking  to  what  circum- 
stance Governor  Worth  owed  his  exalted  position. 

"Well,  you  see,"  said  Mr.  Sloper,  "  his  father  never  could 


LIVING  FOR   THOSE   WE   LOVE. 


33 


make  much  out  of  him  at  home.  He  hadn't  no  natural 
genius  for  farming,  somehow,  and  hard  work  didn't  agree 
with  him.  He'd  get  tired  and  have  a  headache,  and  his 
mother  spoiled  him  ;  I  really  believe  she  thought  he  -was  weak- 
ly, and  I  used  to  think  so,  too,  in  one  sense.  He  never  took 
no  interest  in  things  about  the  farm,  nor  no  pains  to  learn 
anything  but  books.  Couldn't  hold  a  plough,  or  plant  his 
rows  straight,  or  top  off  a  haystack  with  any  sort  of  taste ; 
and  so  his  father,  after  he  had  pretty  much  made  up  his 
mind  that  he  never  would  amount  to  anything,  sent  him  off 
to  college." 

"  How  did  he  make  it  go  there?" 

"  O,  he  picked  up  considerable  after  that,  and,  I've  heard 
say,  *  graduated  with  high  honours,'  as  the  saying  is.  I  never 
heard  of  anybody  graduating  at  all  that  didn't.  But  there 
I  lost  sight  of  him  for  several  years.  He  took  to  the  law  for 
a  living,  and  I  moved  to  the  '  Genesee  country.'  The  next 
I  heard  of  him,  he  was  in  New  York.  I  had  just  then  com- 
menced taking  '  The  Sun,'  or  I  never  should  have  known 
it,  I  don't  suppose.  He  was  then  candidate  for  judge  of  the 
Supreme  Court ;  and  would  you  believe  it !  he  had  renounced 
the  religion  of  his  fathers,  or,  what  is  the  next  thing  to  it, 
had  apostatized  from  the  true  principles  of  this  great  republic, 
and  the  faith  in  which  he  had  been  educated,  and  turned 
democrat,  and  by  that  party  put  into  office  !  and  what  made 
me  madder  than  all,  was  to  hear  that  paper  puffing  him  up, 
and  speaking  of  him  as  '  a  young  man  of  splendid  talents,' 
4  brilliant  acquirements,'  and  all  that  sort  of  thing.  Well, 
that's  neither  here  nor  there ;  perhaps  he  was.  I  should 
always  a'  been  proud  of  him,  if  he  had  not  disgraced  him- 
self by  turning  democrat." 

,"  Had  he  ever  voted  with  the  whigs?"  inquired  Mark. 

"  Voted?  Why,  no.  I  don't  suppose  he  ever  voted  at  all, 
until  he  got  to  New  York,  and  looked  about  to  see  which 
way  the  crowd  went.  But  what  of  that?  wasn't  his  father 
3 


34  SELF-MADE,    OR 

and  his  grandfather  before  himwhigs?  wasn't  it  his  birth- 
right?" 

The  good  old  deacon  was  becoming  excited,  and  measur- 
ing the  barn  floor  with  his  rapid  strides ;  and  how  long  he 
might  have  indulged  in  a  political  tirade  against  the  incum- 
bent of  the  gubernatorial  chair,  we  know  not,  had  not  Mark 
interrupted  him  by  asking  him  quite  earnestly,  "Are  you 
then  on  good  terms  with  his  excellency?" 

"  Good  terms?  Why,  yes.  I  never  go  to  Albany  but  he's 
as  glad  to  see  me  as  he  would  be  to  see  his  own  brother. 
We  agreed,  the  first  time  we  met,  —  and  that  was  on  the  day 
of  his  inauguration,  —  never  to  say  a  word  more  about  politics. 
He  owes  his  advancement  to  his  party,  and  it  would  look 
sneaking  mean  for  a  man  to  desert  his  party,  after  he  had 
fattened  on  the  emoluments  of  his  office.  And  he  knows 
very  well  that  I'm  a  regular  hard-head,  and  it's  no  use  talk- 
ing to  me.  I  couldn't  help  telling  him,  on  the  sly,  that  instead 
of  being  a  gov'nor,  he  might  have  been  in  the  cabinet,  or 
sent  on  a  foreign  embassy,  seeing  we've  now  got  a  whig  ad- 
ministration. 

"  He's  got  some  good  streaks  about  him  yet ;  for  he  don't 
seem  purled  up  a  bit,  nor  forget  his  old  friends  either ;  for 
he  invited  me  up  to  his  house,  and  introduced  me  to  his 
wife,  who  said  she  felt  as  if  I  was  an  old  acquaintance,  she 
had  so  often  heard  her  husband  speak  of  me.  And  then 
there  were  so  many  fine  ladies  and  gentlemen  there  that 
evening,  paying  their  respects  to  the  new  gov'nor  and  his 
lady,  I  felt,  somehow,  as  if  I  hadn't  ought  to  stay ;  but  they 
made  me,  whether  or  no,  and  I  got  introduced,  as  '  my  old 
friend  Mr.  Sloper,'  to  all  the  '  big  men,'  who  treated 
me  with  as  much  respect  as  though  I  had  been  gov'nor 
myself;  and  so,  you  see,  I  take  the  liberty  of  expressing 
my  disapprobation  when  he  does  anything  that  don't  ex- 
actly suit  me.  Says  I,  in  my  letter,  when  he  vetoed  that 
bill  —  " 


LIVING   FOR   THOSE   WE   LOVE.  35 

"Excuse  me,  Mr.  Sloper;  but  I  am  all  anxiety  to  as- 
certain one  thing.  Will  you  do  me  the  favour,  and  a  great 
favour  it  will  be  —  and  one  that  I  will  never  forget  —  will 
you  give  me  a  letter  of  introduction  and  recommendation 
to  Governor  Worth?  I  am  confident,  with  that  in  my 
pocket  to  start  with,  and  his  influence  to  aid  me,  I  shall 
succeed  in  my  plans.  I  had  not  thought  of  seeing  my  way 
so  clear  in  six  months  as  I  see  it  now." 

The  deacon  stopped  short  in  his  walk  between  the  fanning- 
mill  and  the  corn-pen,  and  stood  eying  Mark  with  a  kind 
of  strange  bewildering  stare,  as  if  not  rightly  comprehending 
what  he  had  said. 

Mark  saw  at  once  that  he  had  taken  his  good  friend  com- 
pletely by  surprise ;  but  as  there  was  no  manifestation  of 
unkindness,  he  was  encouraged  to  hope  his  entreaties  would 
be  successful.  A  slight  flush  passed  over  his  face  as  the 
kind  old  man  hesitated  in  his  reply.  Mark  sprang  to  his 
side,  and  taking  his  hand  in  both  of  his,  said  in  a  firm, 
manly  tone,  — 

"  Mr.  Sloper,  I  can  keep  back  no  secrets  from  you,  who 
have  always  been  a  good  friend  to  me  and  my  mother.  You 
may,  perhaps,  have  an  idea  that  I  am  not  capable  of  taking 
care  of  myself  in  any  other  capacity  than  as  a  '  hireling.' 
But  I  am  vain  enough  to  think  that  I  possess  sufficient 
intelligence  to  work  my  way  up  gradually  to  indepen- 
dence. I  cannot  bear  to  think  there  is  no  higher  destiny  for 
me  than  to  be  always  in  my  present  position,  working  a  day 
here  and  a  day  yonder,  whenever  I  am  so  fortunate  as  to 
get  any  work  to  do.  According  to  your  own  story,  there  is 
many  a  man  who  has  made  his  '  mark'  in  the  world,  who 
had,  perhaps,  no  better  foundation  to  build  upon  than  I 
have,  and  no  greater  advantages  in  his  youth  than  I  have 
had  :  to  be  sure,  mine  have  not  been  many,  but  I  have  im- 
proved them  to  the  best  of  my  ability.  And  it  seems  to  me 
that  I  ought  to  leave  here.  lam  not  always  treated  just  right." 


36  SELF-MADE,    OR 

This  last  sentence  was  uttered  in  an  almost  inaudible 
whisper,  and  Mark  had  to  choke  down  the  rising  emotion, 
which  had  well  nigh  mastered  him. 

Mr.  Sloper  remained  silent,  but  had  resumed  his  seat  on 
the  bags  of  wheat,  and  it  was  now  Mark's  turn  to  manifest 
the  excitability  of  his  nature  by  moving  hither  and  thither, 
in  a  state  of  restless  anxiety.  The  changed  and  serious  ex- 
pression of  the  deacon's  countenance  assured  Mark  that  his 
words  were  not  lost  upon  him,  and  he  was  encouraged  to 
go  on. 

"  I  don't  mind  that  so  much  on  my  own  account,  but  it 
wounds  my  mother's  heart  to  see  her  son  slighted  because 
we  are  poor.  I  care  but  little  for  respect  myself,  for  I  am 
strong,  and  can  endure  hardships ;  but  I  look  forward  to  a 
time  when  it  will  devolve  upon  me  to  take  care  of  my 
mother,  who  will  soon  be  past  hard  work.  Nobody  but 
myself  knows  how  many  long  and  late  hours  she  toils,  and 
oftentimes  when  she  is  not  able.  O,  sir,  it  makes  me  feel 
as  if  nothing  was  too  great  for  me  to  accomplish.  This  is 
not  the  first  time  I  have  worked  all  day,  when  every  other 
boy  and  girl  in  town  were  away  on  a  pleasure  excursion. '* 

The  old  deacon  moved  nervously  in  his  seat,  and  after  a 
slight  fit  of  coughing,  took  out  of  his  hat  a  flaming  red  and 
yellow  bandanna,  and  wiped  away  the  moisture  that  had 
gathered  about  his  eyes. 

"  Besides,  it  ain't  particularly  agreeable  to  do  the  roughest 
kind  of  work,  and  feel  all  the  time  as  though  I  was  beholden 
to  my  employers  for  the  privilege  of  serving  them.  I  know 
a  great  many  little  jobs  —  such  as  husking  this  corn,  and 
thrashing  that  buckwheat  —  are  given  to  me  out  of  charity. 
I  don't  know  as  I  can  say  that  of  many  besides  yourself. 
You  are  kind  to  us,  and  but  for  your  and  Mrs.  Sloper's 
regard  for  my  mother,  I  fear  we  should  sometimes  come 
to  want." 

"  As  long  as  Enoch  Sloper  has  a  peck  of  potatoes  to  call 


LIVING   FOR   THOSE   WE   LOVE.  37 

his  own,  you  never  shall  want,"  thought  that  worthy  man  ; 
but  he  said  nothing,  and  Mark  continued, — 

"  Were  I  a  few  years  older,  I  would  go  out  by  myself, 
unadvised  and  alone;  but  a  boy  of  my  age  needs  at  least 
one  friend  to  put  him  on  the  right  track,  and  keep  a  little 
lookout  after  him,  to  see  if  he  goes  straight ;  and  now  I  ask 
you  again,  Mr.  Sloper,  will  you  be  that  friend  to  me?  I  do 
not  want  a  better  one.  I  could  not  have  one  that  would 
advise  me  what  is  for  my  interest  as  well  as  you.  You 
always  tell  me  when  I  go  wrong,  and  have  such  a  good 
heart.  You  are  the  only  man  I  ever  worked  for  who  seemed 
to  think  I  could  get  tired,  or  needed  rest,  or  recreation,  like 
other  boys.  You've  been  like  a  father  to  me,  and  —  " 

"  Hold  on  there,  Mark.  I  never  could  stand  flattery,  no- 
how, and  I'm  too  old  a  bird  to  be  caught  with  any  such 
chaff!  Besides,  I've  spoken  rough  to  you  more  times  than 
you've  got  fingers  and  toes.  Didn't  I  scold  you  considerably 
when  you  left  them  bars  down,  and  the  cattle  got  into  the 
meadow  ?  and  didn't  I  threaten  to  flog  you  once  for  break- 
ing that  new  plough?  And  haven't  I  sometimes  told  you 
you  was  a  lee-t-1-e  too  smart  for  your  clothes?  " 

"  Whenever  you  have  reproved  me,  it  has  been  for  my 
good,  and  I  know  I  deserved  it.  I  remember  I  was  left  to 
watch  the  gap,  and  went  off  with  James  Waters  to  go  in 
swimming,  and  forgot  all  about  it,  when  night  came  ;  and 
there  is  no  excuse  for  boys  forgetting.  I  had  rather  be 
whipped,  any  time,  than  be  obliged  to  say  I  forgot  a  thing ! 
And  as  for  the  flogging  you  threatened  me  with,  it  was  so 
long  ago  I  was  in  hopes  you  had  forgotten  it.  I  wish  I 
coif  Id  forget  that ;  but  I  never  shall.  If  a  boy  ever  deserved 
a  good  thrashing,  I  did  then ;  for  I  went  in  direct  opposi- 
tion to  your  instructions ;  I  thought  my  way  was  the  best, 
and  drove  between  the  stumps  when  you  told  me  I  couldn't 
do  it,  and  not  to  try.  Yes,  I  remembefc  all  about  it,  as 
well  as  though  it  was  yesterday  —  how  you  had  to  take  a  hand 


38  SELF-MADE,    OR 

from  the  field,  and  both  horses  from  their  work,  and  send 
five  miles  to  get  the  plough  mended  ;  and  then  the  blacksmith 
was  from  home,  and  it  lay  there  a  week,  and  cost  an  extra 
journey,  besides  setting  the  spring's  work  back  so  much." 

"  Yes,  Mark,  a  little  accident,  like  that,  will  often  make 
tilings  go  criss-cross  all  summer.  There  is  a  time  to  plant, 
and  a  time  to  sow,  as  the  good  book  tells  us  ;  and  if  it  slips 
by,  and  we  don't  improve  it,  we  can't  expect  much  of  a  crop. 
I  believe  mine  were  rather  slim  that  year,  owing  to  the  seed 
being  put  in  so  late ;  but  I  never  laid  it  up  against  you. 
Boys  will  be  boys,  and  you  are  about  as  good  as  they'll 
average,  I  guess.  I  am  a  little  cross-grained  sometimes, 
when  things  go  con-tra-iy  ;  and  the  best  of  us  have  our  ups 
and  downs,  our  trials  and  grievances,  and  they  are  not  sent 
us  for  nothing  either.  I  had  to  live  a  good  while  before  I 
learnt  it.  As  to  your  pulling  up  stakes  in  Sorreltown,  and 
trying  your  luck  among  strangers,  I  don't  know  about  that. 
There's  always  two  sides  to  a  picture,  you  know — a  shiny 
side  and  a  shady  side.  You  will  find  the  world  into  which 
you  would  be  going  very  different,  in  many  respects,  from 
what  you  anticipate,  and  the  people  with  whom  you  may 
come  in  contact,  very  different  sort  of  folks  from  those  you've 
been  brought  up  among.  We  are  a  plain  sort  of  people 
down  here,  not  much  used  to  refinement  and  fashion,  and  all 
that  sort  of  thing.  There's  many  an  honest  country  lad, 
with  an  older  head  on  his  shoulders  than  yours,  who  has 
unmoored  his  little  life-boat,  —  where  it  lay  snugly  anchored 
by  the  old  hearth-stone,  — •  and  pushed  out  into  the  broad 
stream  of  pleasure,  or  ambition,  or  enterprise  of  some  kind, 
who  was  foolish  enough  to  think  he  would  always  find 
smooth  sailing.  But  I  tell  you  what — he  found  his  little 
bundle  of  experience  dreadful  poor  ballast  when  a  squall 
came  up.  He  was  glad  enough  to  reef  sail,  and  pull  for 
home.  The  'light  of  home'  has  proved  a  beacon  light  to 
many  a  man  who  has  ventured  too  far  out  among  the 


LIVING   FOR   THOSE   WE   LOVE. 


39 


breakers  !  I've  seen  the  time,  Mark,  when  I  hadn't  as  good 
a  home  to  steer  to  as  you  have.  You  look  surprised  ;  but  so 
it  was.  My  father  died  soon  after  George  Worth  went  to 
college,  and  my  mother  —  God  pity  her  —  went  crazed,  and 
died  two  years  after.  There  were  seven  of  us  left.  Our 
farm  was  small,  and  what  was  that  to  be  divided  among 
so  many?  One  had  to  go  here,  another  there,  until  we 
were  all  scattered,  never  to  be  reunited  again  as  one  family. 
You  see  the  light  of  my  early  home  went  down  in  darkness 
deep  and  terrible ;  and  but  for  the  star  of  faith  that  shines 
above  the  Christian's  pathway,  and  shows  his  way  among 
the  reefs  that  lift  their  threatening  heads  as  though  to  bar 
his  entrance  to  a  heavenly  rest,  I  fear  I  should  have  been 
shipwrecked  long  ago." 

The  lips  of  the  strong  man  quivered,  and  his  ample  chest 
heaved  to  and  fro,  as  Memory  swept  her  magic  hand  over 
the  chords  of  his  large  heart,  making  it  vibrate  with  emo- 
tions too  painful  for  concealment. 

Tears  filled  the  eyes  of  Mark,  and  for  the  moment  he  was 
half  resolved  to  abandon  his  project,  which  before  had 
looked  so  feasible.  His  humble  birthplace  possessed  a 
thousand  charms,  before  unappreciated,  and  the  world  be- 
yond, which  but  an  hour  before  looked  so  bright  and  allur- 
ing, now  seemed  replete  with  dangers  insurmountable. 

For  a  young  adventurer,  like  him,  to  cast  his  bark  adrift  on 
an  unknown  sea  —  as  his  experienced  friend  had  been  pleased 
to  term  his  entrance  into  the  more  active  pursuits  of  life  — 
with  no  hand  but  his  own  to  guide  its  onward  course,  seemed 
impossible,  and  his  courage  was  sorely  put  to  the  test ;  but 
the  thought  of  his  mother's  lonely,  toilsome  life,  and  his  own 
meagre  subsistence,  earned  by  the  sweat  of  his  brow,  with 
no  prospect  of  a  better  future,  again  arose  before  him  like  a 
spectre,  to  fright  away  all  these  unpleasant  misgivings,  and 
he  resolved  once  more  that  nothing  should  decoy  him  from 
his  purpose.  As  a  thought  of  his  own  weakness  stole  over 


40  SELF-MADE,   OR 

his  .heart,  it  was  lifted  in  silent  prayer  to  Him  whose  cove- 
nant with  those  who  put  their  trust  in  Him  is  everlasting. 

"  The  arm  of  my  mother's  God  shall  be  my  guide,"  said 
Mark,  raising  his  eyes  to  those  of  his  companion,  who  had 
remained  some  minutes  silent,  while  these  conflicting  thoughts 
rioted  in  Mark's  heart.  "  In  His  strength  will  I  go  forth.  I 
may  encounter  adverse  winds  and  threatening  waves,  but 
will  trust  the  '  helm '  in  the  hands  of '  One  mighty  to  save.'  " 

As  Mark's  tearful  face,  beaming  with  strong  assurance  of 
heavenly  guidance,  was  lifted  to  that  of  his  friend,  both  be- 
came, as  it  were,  in  a  moment  inspired  with  a  prophetic 
vision,  looming  up  in  the  distant  future,  brightening  as  it 
led  farther  and  farther  towards  the  goal  of  promise  —  a  vis- 
ion beautiful  and  glorious,  beckoning  him  onward,  with  its 
mystic  light,  away  through  the  green  fields  and  flowery 
paths  of  learning,  or  the  more  intricate  windings  of  wisdom, 
or  up  the  steeps  of  science,  until  "  its  vane,  slow-turning  in 
the  liquid  sky,"  reveals  the  outer  court  ambition  rears  to 
genius. 

"  Well,  Mark,  I  will  no  longer  oppose  you,  nor  throw  any 
obstacles  in  the  way  of  your  noble  resolution ;  and  perhaps  I 
may  aid  you  in  removing  any  '  stumbling-blocks '  which 
your  unpractised  hand  might  find  too  hard  to  manage.  Go 
home  now  to  your  supper,  and  we  will  consider  the  matter 
further,  and  conclude  what's  best  to  be  done." 

As  Mark  ascended  the  little  footpath  leading  to  his  humble 
home,  the  good  old  deacon  watched  him  until  the  door 
closed  behind  him,  and  hid  him  from  his  earnest  gaze. 
Knowing  something  of  Mark's  taste,  and  disposition  to 
acquire  useful  knowledge,  and  having  long  reposed  in  him 
the  highest  confidence,  he  no  longer  hesitated  to  encourage 
him  in  his  laudable  pursuits. 

"  He's  a  noble  fellow  !  And  I  do  not  much  wonder  at  his 
being  dissatisfied  with  his  present  lot.  I  will  see  what  I 
can  do  for  him.  If  I  had  had  some  of  his  grit  at  sixteen,  I 


LIVING  FOR   THOSE   WE   LOVE.  41 

might  have  been  a  different  individual  at  sixty  from  what 
I  am.  No,  I  guess  I  did  about  as  well  as  I  could.  It  re- 
quired a  good  deal  of  real  courage  and  fortitude  for  a  boy 
to  get  along  as  well  as  /did.  Only  think  how  I  have  suc- 
ceeded. Everything  I  put  my  hand  to  seems  to  prosper,  and 
it  would  be  sorter  charging  God  with  unbountifulness  to 
say  that  he  had  not  prospered  me.  Let  me  be  thankful  that 
I  am  what  I  am,  and  have  what  I  have." 

Thus  he  reasoned  and  cogitated  while  he  foddered  the 
stock  and  drove  the  sheep  into  their  accustomed  pen,  and 
fed  the  poultry  and  the  pigs,  who  were  again  importunate 
in  their  demands  upon  his  stock  of  patience.  He  then 
turned  his  own  steps  homeward. 

"  And  as  your  patience  must  be  exhausted,"  quoth  aunt 
Bessie,  "  we  will  pause  here  in  our  narrative  until  another 
evening." 

"Just  tell  me  one  thing,  auntie,"  said  I,  as  she  was  wiping 
her  spectacles  and  pinning  up  her  curls,  as  if  she  would  dis- 
miss me  for  the  night ;  "  was  Mark  Miller  any  relation  of 
ours?" 

"Why,  what  put  that  into  your  head,  child?  We  have 
no  relatives  by  the  name  of  Miller,  that  I  know  of." 

"  Well,  but  is  it  not  only  an  assumed  name  for  — " 

"  O,  I  shall  not  spoil  my  story  to  gratify  your  childish 
curiosity.  So  now  give  me  your  good-night  kiss,  and 
pleasant  dreams  to  you." 


42  SELF-MADE, 


SELF-MADE,    OR 


CHAPTER   V. 
NETTIE  NOT  INVITED. 

"  The  sorrows  of  thy  youthful  day 

Shall  make  thee  wise  in  coming  years ; 
The  brightest  rainbows  ever  play 
Above  the  fountains  of  our  tears." 

MACKAY. 

SAID  Mark's  was  the  only  name  omitted  in  the 

list  of  invitations  to  Squire  Brown's  that  night ; 

but  there  was  one  other  who  felt  the  slight  as 

keenly  as  Mark  did. 
Though  why  little  Nettie  Strange  should  have  indulged  in 
the  vain  hope  of  being  one  of  the  happy  recipients  of  so 
much  pleasure  as  this  occasion  offered,  I  know  not,  except 
it  be  for  the  reason  that  she  had  heard  everybody  was  to  be 
there.  She  had  never  been  to  any  of  the  merry-makings, 
and  save  that  her  place  in  the  old  school-house  was  gen- 
erally occupied  during  the  winter  session,  she  would  scarce- 
ly have  been  known  to  exist.  As  it  was,  her  existence  was 
made  up  of  the  monotonous  round  of  farm-house  drudgery, 
and  not  only  that,  but  field-labour  when  her  in-door  duties 
were  performed  :  there  was  hay  to  rake,  or  flax  to  pull,  or 
apples  to  be  gathered. 

But  Nettie  had  received  a  present  of  a  new  gown  from 
one  of  the  work-hands,  when  he  was  paid  off  in  the  fall, 
with  green  and  yellow  and  red  flowers  scattered  all  over  it.  It 
was  made  low  in  the  neck,  and  with  short  sleeves ;  and  with 
her  own  chubby  hands,  hardened  by  labour  and  browned  by 


LIVING   FOR  THOSE   WE   LOVE.  43 

the  sunshine,  she  had  hemmed  and  crimped  a  white  cambric 
ruffle,  and  basted  it  on  as  neatly  as  a  seamstress  could  have 
done  it.  There  it  had  lain  for  three  months,  folded  up  nicely, 
in  one  corner  of  the  great  chest  where  the  Sunday  clothes 
were  kept.  But  she  knew  no  Sunday,  except  that  on  that 
day  she  was  left  alone  to  tend  the  baby  and  keep  the  four 
younger  children  out  of  mischief,  while  her  mother  went  to 
church.  At  such  times,  if  she  could  get  the  one  to  sleep  and 
the  others  out  to  play,  she  would  steal  up  stairs  and  take  a 
long  admiring  look  at  the  forbidden  treasure,  smoothing  out 
the  wrinkled  folds,  and  wishing  that  a  time  would  come 
when  she  might  wear  it. 

She  had  heard  of  the  sleigh-ride,  and  the  party  at  Squire 
Brown's,  through  John  Thompson,  who  came  to  borrow  her 
father's  sleigh-bells,  and  said,  in  her  generous  little  heart, 
"  Now  I  wonder  if  they  will  think  of  me.  O,  if  I  could 
only  go  this  once  !  "  She  ventured  to  express  her  desire  to 
her  mother,  and  received  a  sharp  reproof  for  her  presump- 
tion. 

"  That  would  be  a  pretty  dress  for  you  to  wear  this  cold 
weather  —  wouldn't  it?" 

"  Lotty  Harwood  is  going  to  wear  her  green  crape,  and  it 
has  both  low  neck  and  short  sleeves." 

"  Well,  if  Mrs.  Harwood  is  fool  enough  to  cut  up  her  dead 
mother's  clothes  into  gowns  for  her  lazy  girls  to  string  out, 
it's  none  of  my  business,  or  yours  either.  If  it  wasn't  for 
the  property  the  old  woman  left  her,  they  wouldn't  hold 
their  heads  higher  than  other  folks,  nor  dress  any  smarter 
either. 

"  What  are  you  standing  there  for?  Why  ain't  you  about 
your  dishes?  Don't  you  see  it's  almost  night?  Talk  about 
going  to  the  party !  I  wonder  what  shoes  you'd  wear ! 
Them  of  yourn  would  correspond  amazingly  with  a  new 
caliker  gown !  " 

"Couldn't  I  have  a  new  pair?"  modestly  asked  Nettie, 


44  SELF-MADE,   OR 

while  she  hung  her  head,  and  the  tears  trembled  in  her  soft 
blue  eye. 

"  New  shoes  indeed  !'  You'd  better  look  at  mine,"  thrust- 
ing a  dilapidated  shoe  into  notice ;  and  if  large  feet  were 
an  indication  of  good  blood,  she  might  have  claimed  to  be 
a  lineal  descendant  of  some  royal  line  of  autocrats. 

"  Do  you  think  we  are  made  of  money?  and  that  we  have 
nothing  to  do  with  it  but  to  buy  finery  for  you  ?  Go  along 
to  your  work,  I  say.  You  needn't  trouble  yourself  about 
the  party.  It's  noways  likely  you'll  go,  or  have  a  chance  to. 
When  you've  done  up  the  dishes,  get  some  of  them  marino 
potatoes,  and  cut  up  for  the  cow.  What  have  you  done  with 
the  swill-pail?  Haven't  I  told  you  to  let  it  stand  by  the 
stove  ?  What  did  you  set  it  out  for  ?  " 

Nettie  said  the  baby  would  paddle  in  it,  and  she  had  to 
remove  it. 

"  Then  why  didn't  you  keep  him  in  the  cradle,  or  carry 
him  about?  That's  the  way  he's  got  his  frock  so  greasy  and 
dirty." 

Nettie  didn't  see  that  it  was  any  dirtier  than  common ; 
besides,  he  was  so  heavy  to  carry. 

"  None  of  your  impertinence,  miss.  I  wouldn't  give  you 
your  salt  for  all  the  good  you  are  to  me,  or  ever  will  be, 
unless  you  turn  over  a  new  leaf." 

The  next  day  was  Christmas ;  but  no  holy  joy  beamed 
from  the  cold  gray  eye  of  David  Strange,  and  no  bright, 
happy  smile  lighted  up  the  hard,  uncouth  visage  of  his  wife. 
The  large,  unfurnished  house  reverberated  to  no  merry 
Christmas  greetings ;  there  was  no  fire-light  dancing  on  the 
parlor  walls,  and  no  love-light  in  the  hearts  beating  beneath 
its  roof.  This  day  was  passed  as  all  the  others  in  the  year 
had  been.  Toil  and  trouble,  fretting  and  fault-finding,  were 
the  predominating  influences  under  which  the  children  had 
been  born  and  nurtured.  The  light  of  life,  if  it  had  ever 
shone  at  all  in  the  parents'  hearts,  and  the  sweetness  of 


LIVING  FOR   THOSE   WE   LOVE.  45 

human  sympathy,  seemed  to  have  long  since  died  out,  or 
were  shrouded  in  the  unwholesome  mists  of  avarice  and  aus- 
terity. To  supply  the  bodily  wants  of  his  family  appeared 
to  Mr.  Strange  the  sum  total  of  his  duty  as  a  father  and  hus- 
band ;  while  Mrs.  Strange  imposed  no  obligations  upon  her- 
self as  a  wife  and  mother,  except  to  see  that  the  most  pressing 
necessities  of  life  were  frugally  furnished  them  ;  that  nothing 
was  wasted,  and  that  they  "  got  ahead  a  little  every  year." 
The  wants  of  the  heart,  the  refining  influences  of  social  life, 
the  soul's  yearnings  after  higher  and  nobler  pnrsuits,  never 
once  suggested  themselves  to  her  mind  ;  she  never  dreamed 
of  those  immortal  duties  to  her  kindred  race  which  would 
exalt  her  virtues  and  rival  her  brightest  hopes  of  worldly 
prosperity. 

All  day  long  had  Nettie's  unguarded  thoughts  been  with 
the  gay  'cortege  she  had  seen  pass  as  she  stood  at  the  kitchen 
window.  Scrubbing  and  churning  seemed  to  be  the  hardest 
tasks  she  had  ever  performed.  She  thought  the  butter  never 
would  come,  and  her  hands  trembled,  when,  after  sweeping 
and  hanging  up  the  broom,  she  stopped  to  wipe  the  perspira- 
tion from  her  heated  face.  More  than  once  was  the  checked 
woollen  apron  raised  to  her  eyes,  to  brush  away  the  truant 
tears  that  would  drop  in  spite  of  all  her  womanly  resolves 
to  care  nothing  about  it.  Her  mother  seemed  to  feel  for  her 
too  ;  for  the  bitterness  of  her  nature  was  sweetened  a  little, 
and  she  was  less  disposed  to  be  cross  and  fault-finding  than 
usual.  But  if  there  were  any  of  the  gentler  qualities  of 
woman  struggling  for  the  ascendency  in  her  heart,  she  was 
not  the  one  to  betray  them  in  words. 

"  If  you'll  hurry  with  your  ironing,  and  bring  in  the  oven- 
wood,  and  get  supper  out  of  the  way  before  dark,  you  may 
go  down  to  widder  Miller's  this  evening.  I  want  to  get  her. 
brass  kettle  to  do  up  some  pickles  in  ;  and  as  you've  been 
pretty  hard  at  work  to-day,  you  can  take  your  knitting  and 
stay  a  spell.  I  s'pose  Mark  has  gone  with  the  others,  and  the 


46  SELF-MADE,    OR 

old  woman  will  be  alone.  And  you  can  ask  her  if  she  has 
any  '  turn-pikes '  to  spare :  I'm  afraid  mine  got  froze,  for 
this  bread  ain't  going  to  rise  to-day,  as  I  see. 

"  There,  you  needn't  hurry  over  your  work  in  that  man- 
ner ;  there's  plenty  of  time  to  do  it  well.  Do  you  call  that 
dicky  ironed?" 

To  tell  the  truth,  it  had  been  somewhat  slighted  ;  for  Net- 
tie's hands  moved  swiftly  over  the  ironing-board,  and  her 
heart  was  all  in  a  flutter,  in  anticipation  of  passing  the  even- 
ing with  her  best  friend.  But  she  dampened  the  plats  and 
collar  of  the  incorrigible  dicky  in  some  clear-starch  water, 
and  in  a  few  moments  took  it  to  her  mother  to  show  how 
nice  it  looked. 

"Well,  that'll  do.  I  never  like  to  see  things  half  done. 
How  much  more  have  you  got  to  do?  It  is  time  the  kettle 
was  over." 

"  O,  there's  not  much  ;  only  father's  shirt,  and  these  tow- 
els, and  Benny's  aprons,  and  the  table-cloth,  and  a  few  other 
things ;  but  I  will  put  over  the  tea-kettle  now,  and  it  will  be 
all  ready  when  I  get  done.  Shall  I  fry  some  ham? " 

"  Yes,  and  you'll  have  to  make  biscuit  too,  for  them  young 
ones  have  done  nothing  this  whole  blessed  day  but  eat  and 
waste  their  bread  upon  the  floor.  John,  come  out  of  that 
cupboard  this  minute,  or  I'll  trounce  you.  Do  you  hear?" 

John  reluctantly  obeyed,  but  not  until  he  had  stowed  the 
last  remaining  slice  of  bread  into  his  pocket,  to  be  divided 
between  himself  and  the  dog. 

Then  followed  various  demands  upon  Nettie's  time  and 
patience  ;  but  she  actually  flew  in  the  discharge  of  her  varied 
tasks,  as  there  was  so  much  to  accomplish  within  a  given 
time.  What  tried  her  most  was  to  have  to  wait  so  long  for 
her  father's  coming,  after  everything  was  steaming  on  the 
table. 

At  last  he  came;  and  a  less  experienced  eye  than  hers 
could  tell  at  a  glance  that  he  had  not  spent  his  Christmas 


LIVING   FOR   THOSE   W£  LOVE.  47 

happily.  Something,  as  usual,  had  gone  wrong;  and  the 
moody  silence  with  which  he  at  first  sank  into  his  chair 
soon  gave  place  to  an  outburst  of  pent-up  wrath.  The 
storm  of  words  was  not  exhausted  until  the  meal  was  fin- 
ished ;  and  Nettie's  heart  was  relieved  of  a  great  load  when 
she  saw  him  take  his  hat  and  wend  his  way  towards  the 
town. 

"  We  will  have  to  milk  and  fodder  the  cattle,  Nettie,"  said 
her  mother,  "  for  father  won't  be  back  again  till  midnight." 
And  again  she  gave  way  to  anger,  as  she  thought  of  the 
many  similar  trials  she  had  passed  through,  and  all  on  ac- 
count, as  she  thought,  of  his  bad  temper.  She  never  once 
thought  that  "  a  soft  answer  turneth  away  wrath  ; "  that  it 
was  as  much  her  own  fault  as  his  that  these  unpleasant  jars 
were  becoming  more  and  more  frequent  every  year  of  their 
lives. 

"  Patience  brings  roses,"  and  at  last  it  brought  Nettie  to 
the  end  of  her  allotted  tasks.  When  she  had  smoothed  her 
luxuriant  blonde  hair  (which  would  curl  in  spite  of  the  neg- 
lect it  met  with),  and  rolled  up  her  knitting,  and  pinned  it 
carefully  in  her  pocket-handkerchief,  she  stole  up  behind  her 
mother's  chair  to  ask  if  she  might  wear  her  new  dress ;  but 
the  question  died  upon  her  lips  ere  it  was  uttered.  She 
thought,  sure  enough,  it  would  contrast  strangely  with  the 
thick,  coarse  shoes  she  wore.  And  so,  with  a  clean  linsey- 
woolsey,  and  a  neat  pink  apron  pinned  around  her  waist, 
and  a  faded  green  cloak  thrown  over  her  shoulders,  and  a 
worse-looking  hood  (after  having  received  her  instructions 
as  to  her  errand  over  and  over  again),  she  sallied  forth  into 
the  clear  moonlight,  on  her  way  to  Mi-s.  Miller's. 

The  "  genii  of  the  night "  ne'er  placed  in  Dian's  'broidered 
vest  jewels  more  rich  and  royal  than  those  sparkling  in  her 
deep  blue  robes  this  night.  It  might  be  their  reflection  on 
the  snow-drifts  that  gave  to  Nettie's  eyes  their  brilliant  lustre, 
for  never  had  they  shone  so  beautiful  as  now.  She  waded 


48  SELF-MADE,    OR 

through  the  fleecy  whiteness  until  she  struck  the  open  road, 
her  face  as  free  from  cloud  or  shadow  as  was  the  night's 
pale  queen  sailing  through  the  snowy  clouds  above. 

She  passed  the  little  stile  that  separated  her  father's 
broad,  barren  domains  from  the  lane  leading  to  the  small 
ten-acre  lot  of  his  less  affluent  but  more  thrifty  neighbour 
Smith.  This  was  a  renowned  try  sting-place  for  the  young- 
sters of  the  village  when  the  early  summer  shrouded  it  in  a 
mass  of  green  foliage.  But  now,  how  sad  and  desolate  it 
looked,  with  its  heavy  carpet  of  snow,  and  the  long  grape- 
vine, that  in  autumn  was  laden  with  its  rich  purple  burden, 
grating  harshly  against  the  old  hickory,  as  it  stretched  its 
huge  arms  abroad  as  if  to  protect  it  from  the  sweeping  blast ! 
Nettie  was  a  brave,  thoughtful  girl,  far  beyond  her  years ; 
and  though  in  the  morning  of  her  "  teens,"  in  her  heart  were 
germs  of  intellectual  strength  and  beauty,  only  awaiting  the 
genial  climate  of  love  and  the  guidance  of  some  stronger 
spirit  to  make  them  expand  into  womanly  grace  and  digni- 
ty. People  wondered  of  whom  she  inherited  all  the  quiet 
gentleness  and  amiable  self-possession  that  characterized  her 
daily  life.  But  Nettie  was  the  first-born  of  her  parents, 
and  came  into  being  before  their  hearts  were  quite  alien- 
ated from  each  other,  and  when  all  that  was  good  in  their  na- 
tures showed  itself  in  their  affection  for  their  little  girl.  As 
they  increased  in  years,  cares  increased,  and  they,  becoming 
greedy  of  gain,  forgot  to  cast  their  cares  and  burdens  on  the 
Lord,  but  tried  to  carry  them  alone.  And  so,  at  length,  each 
became  discouraged,  and  sank  under  the  accumulated  load. 
Nettie  paused  a  moment  by  the  stile,  although  her  feet  and 
hands  were  cold,  for  her  shoes  were  old,  and  Bennie  had 
lost  the  nice  warm  mittens  Mrs.  Miller  had  netted  for  her. 
She  cast  her  eyes  wonderingly  towards  the  only  spot  in  the 
world  for  which  she  had  any  affection  :  I  should  except  Mrs. 
Miller's  cottage ;  but  she  was  seldom  there :  it  was  a  mile 
from  her  father's  house,  and  she  never  went  anywhere  without 


LIVING   FOR   THOSE    WE   LOVE. 


49 


taking  the  children.  But  she  was  sometimes  permitted  to 
bring  them  here  to  play  in  the  cool  shade,  for  there  were  no 
trees  around  the  tall,  gaunt  house  of  Mr.  Strange  ;  and  but 
for  a  prolific  hop-vine  that  shaded  the  front  doorsteps,  and 
spread  its  noxious  leaves  over  the  one  south  window, 
where  Mrs.  Strange  forever  sat  with  her  foot  jogging  the 
cradle,  the  house  might  have  defied  any  one  to  discover  the 
most  distant  approximation  to  ornament  or  comfort.  But 
this  spot  to  Nettie  was  the  one  little  green  Eden  where  she 
led  her  unruly-  charge,  whenever  their  teasing  to  be  taken 
out  to  play  became  no  longer  endurable  to  the  mother.  In 
the  hot,  sultry  summer  days  they  came  but  seldom,  for  then 
Nettie's  tasks  were  too  many  for  her  to  spend  so  much  time ; 
but  in  the  sweet  spring  time,  when  the  sun  shone  warm  and 
pleasant  on  the  green  earth,  and  there  was  not  so  much  to 
do  within  doors,  would  they  come ;  and  while  the  children 
filled  their  aprons  with  the  yellow  dandelions  and  the  pretty 
violets,  blue  and  gold,  and  the  air  with  the  sounds  of  their 
boisterous  merriment,  Nettie  would  sit  quietly  apart  and 
build  "  air  castles,"  peopling  them  with  beautiful  beings  and 
things  clothed  with  the  vesture  of  immortality.  Strange  day- 
dreams, and  a  thousand  bright  images,  would  haunt  her 
imaginative  mind.  O,  what  beautiful  dreams  had  she  of  the 
great  unknown,  as  these  spirit-fancies  ran  riot  through  her 
brain !  An  unseen  power  led  her  whither  it  listed,  until  her 
rapt  vision  became  dazzled  with  its  own  brightness.  It 
was  here  she  learned  of  the  spirit-world  lying  all  around  her, 
of  the  powers  of  the  immortal  mind,  and  the  strength  of  the 
human  will.  And  as  the  years  sped  away,  purer  and  deeper 
were  the  spirit-voices  that  wooed  her  (she  had  no  social  life) 
to  a  life  within  herself.  A  beautiful  little  snow-peak,  with  a 
spire  formed  of  a  broken  tendril,  rested  upon  the  summit  of 
the  grape-vine  arbor  ;  and  as  a  little  cloud  of  silver  and  gold 
rolled  away  from  the  moon's  bright  face,  a  haloed  radiance 
played  about  the  snow-peak,  until  it  seemed  too  glorious  a 
4 


50  SELF-MADE,    OR 

thing  to  be  swept  away.  As  Nettie  looked,  its  foundation 
became  undermined  by  the  sudden  swaying  of  the  branches 
on  which  it  rested,  and  it  fell  among  the  broken  twigs. 

"  O,"  exclaimed  Nettie,  "  that  is  too  bad ;  why  could  I 
not  gaze  upon  it  a  moment  longer?  Such  is  the  fate  of  all 
my  visions  !  Ere  I  get  them  shaped  to  my  liking  they  fade 
away  into  nothingness.  But  I  must  hurry  along,  I  am  so 
cold ;  by  and  by 'the  spring  will  come,  and  I  can  visit  the 
stile,  and  dream  under  the  green  trees." 

She  quickened  her  pace,  and  soon  the  cheerful  light  in 
Mrs.  Miller's  cottage  window  rose  to  view,  and  she  smiled 
involuntarily  a  pleasant  smile ;  for  it  was  a  beacon-light  to 
her,  shedding  a  serene  glory  upon  her  lonely  heart.  Soon 
the  inviting  voice  of  Mark  bade  her  "  walk  in,"  and  her 
heart  was  put  in  the  least  little  flutter  in  the  world,  for  to 
meet  him  was  an  unexpected  pleasure. 

"  Why,  Nettie  !  how  do  you  do?  "  and 

"  Bless  the  child ! "  said  the  mother,  both  in  the  same 
breath. 

"  Are  you  not  'most  froze?  Come  to  the  fire,  do  ;  Mark, 
bring  the  little  rocking-chair.  Why,  your  cheeks  are  really 
purple ! " 

"  O,  no,  I'm  not  much  cold;  and  I've  had  a  pleasant 
walk.  There  was  a  good  path  after  I  got  out  into  the  road, 
and  I  might  have  been  here  sooner  only  I  stopped  —  "  at  the 
stile,  she  would  have  added  ;  but  she  interrupted  herself  by 
asking  Mrs.  Miller  to  untie  her  hood ;  the  strings  had  got 
into  a  hard  knot.  The  mischievous  tape  baffled  the  skill 
of  Mrs.  Miller,  and  Mark  was  forced  to  undertake  the  un- 
tying of  the  incorrigible  string,  while  his  mother  busied 
herself  in  drawing  out  the  little  round  table,  and  placing 
the  candle  and  a  dish  of  red-cheeked  apples  thereon. 

"  Are  they  all  well  at  home?  "  inquired  Mrs.  Miller,  with 
kindly  interest. 

"  Quite  Well,"  said  Nettie. 


LIVING   FOR   THOSE   WE   LOVE.  5 1 

Mark  was  so  long  untying  the  string,  that  Nettie  said 
"  break  it ;  "  and  she  was  a  little  vexed,  too,  when  he  stood 
with  his  lips  so  close  to  hers  (just  a  little,  you  know),  for  so 
good  a  girl  as  Nettie  never  got  exceedingly  cross  about  any- 
thing. Mrs.  Miller  thought  he  was  looking  straight  into 
Nettie's  eyes,  and  not  under  her  chin,  as  he  should  have 
done.  But  Nettie  never  raised  her  eyes  to  see,  and  at  length 
the  knotty  question  was  settled  by  Mark's  tossing  the  old 
hood  into  a  corner ;  and  then,  drawing  a  chair  close  to  that 
of  Nettie,  he  began  to  banter  her  on  her  good  looks. 

"  Why,  Nettie,  how  tall  you've  grown  !  I  haven't  seen  you 
since  last  harvest."  He  did  not  ask  her  where  she  had  kept 
herself  all  this  time,  for  he  well  knew  she  hardly  ever  went 
beyond  the  dilapidated  enclosure  of  her  father's  grounds. 

"  You  have  not  been  here  in  a  long,  long  time,"  said  Mrs. 
Miller  ;  "  and  as  Mark  says,  so  says  his  mother, — I  think  you 
have  grown  both  tall  and  handsome  since  we  saw  you  last. 
Stand  up  here  under  the  notch,  and  let  me  measure." 

"  Is  that  notch  there  yet  ?  That  was  made  a  year  ago,  and 
I  must  have  grown  some  since  then  ;  but  not  all  that !  "  and 
she  stepped  back  from  under  Mrs.  Miller's  hand,  that  had 
been  placed  over  her  head,  and  saw  how  far  above  the  old 
notch  on  the  cellar  door  was  the  new  one  just  made. 

"  If  I  grow  as  much  as  that  every  year,  I  shall  soon  be  as 
tall  as  Mark." 

"  You  are  nearly  up  to  my  shoulder  now,"  said  Mark, 
pressing  Nettie  to  his  side,  and  passing  his  arm  around  her 
waist,  while  he  attempted  to  snatch  a  kiss  from  her  pouting 
lips.  Nettie  turned  up  her  saucy  little  nose,  and  retreated  to 
the  chimney  corner. 

"  He's  a  naughty  boy,  Nettie ;  I  wouldn't  mind  him." 

"  I  wouldn't  mind  it  at  all,  only  I  knew  you  were  look- 
ing." 

"That's  an  honest  confession.  Mother,  what  made  you 
look  ?  "  and  a  right  merry  peal  of  laughter  burst  from  all  lips. 


^2  SELF-MADE,   OR 

"  Nay,"  said  Nettie,  archly,  "  that  is  not  what  I  meant ;  " 
and  the  laughing  dimples  deepened  on  her  cheeks. 

"  Take  an  apple,  Nettie,  and  let  us  be  good  friends. 
Here,  this  big  mellow  one,  and  I'll  name  it  for  you.  I'll 
name  it  that  great '  straddle-bug,'  who  was  around  here  try- 
ing to  get  up  a  dancing-school." 

"  Humph !  I  would  rather  you'd  name  it  yourself  than 
him !  " 

"Just  as  I  supposed  ;  thank  you  for  the  compliment." 

"  O,  you  '  good-for-nothing ! '  you  misconstrue  everything 
I  say.  I  meant  your  name  was  bad  enough,  without  going 
away  from  home  to  hunt  up  '  straddle-bugs.'  How  can  you 
make  me  blush  so  ?  " 

"  It  is  only  the  reflection  of  the  apples." 

"  Ah,  how  nice  they  are,  too  !  Did  they  grow  on  the  tree 
down  by  the  spring?" 

"  Yes,  Nettie,  they  grew  on  the  tree  you  helped  me  to  set 
out.  Don't  you  remember  holding  it  up  with  your  chubby 
little  hands  while  I  piled  the  earth  around  it?  We  have 
always  called  it  Nettie's  tree." 

As  the  evening  wore  merrily  away,  Mark  and  Nettie 
thought  they  were  never  so  happy  before,  and  that  it  was  far 
better  than  going  to  the  sleigh  ride.  The  jovial  remarks  of 
the  one,  and  the  sprightly  rejoinder  of  the  other,  quite  upset 
the  gravity  of  Mrs.  Miller,  and  the  shadow  of  the  old  woe 
floated  away  from  her  kind  spirit.  Nettie  was  so  frolicsome, 
and  Mark  so  seemingly  happy,  it  was  impossible  to  be  sad 
now.  The  last  word  of  the  sprightly  repartee  lay  on  the 
lips  of  Nettie  Strange,  when  she  suddenly  thought  of  her 
own  unhappy  home,  and  the  necessity  of  immediately  re- 
turning thither.  The  bright  smile  went  out  from  her  face, 
and  the  sparkling  light  of  her  eye  was  clouded  by  the  long, 
drooping  lash. 

The  old  clock  told  the  hour  often,  and  Nettie  started  from 
her  momentary  reverie,  and  with  an  assumed  cheerfulness, 
said  it  was  time  for  her  to  go. 


LIVING  FOR   THOSE   WE   LOVE.  53 

"  Well,  Nettie,  would  you  like  to  have  a  certain  '  good-for 
nothing '  see  you  home?  " 

Nettie  blushed  her  consent,  and  since  the  disappointment 
of  the  morning  so  happy  a  smile  had  not  irradiated  Mark's 
face.  The  cloak  and  hood  were  brought  by  Mark,  and  Mrs. 
Miller  hastened  to  bring  the  brass  kettle  and  the  "  turn- 
pikes" for  Mrs.  Strange.  When  the  cloak  was  properly 
adjusted,  and  the  hood  pinned  closely  about  the  face  (Mark 
thought,  "  What  a  pretty  face  to  be  cased  in  such  an  outland- 
ish bonnet!"),  by  Mrs.  Miller's  nimble  fingers,  she  kissed 
her  with  a  mother's  tenderness,  and  said  she  was  so  glad  to 
see  them  happy !  Gazing  upon  the  children  as  they  took 
their  leave,  the  grateful  tears  gathered  in  her  eyes,  and  she 
thought,  as  their  retreating  footsteps  and  merry  voices  were 
borne  back  on  the  night  wind,  she  could  never  more  feel 
poverty  while  the  wealth  of  two  such  loving  hearts  was 
hers.  "  Heaven  bless  them  ! "  ejaculated  she ;  "  in  all  the 
wide  world  there  are  none  others  to  love  me."  And  it  was 
a  happy  hour  when,  alone  by  her  silent  cottage  hearth,  the 
poor  widow  thanked  God  for  his  great  mercy.  An  hour 
after,  all  were  sleeping  sweetly  beneath  their  respective  roofs, 
and  the  pleasant  smiles  that  played  around  their  lips  seemed 
to  tell  of  happy  dreams. 


54  SELF-MADE,    OR 


CHAPTER   VI. 
SAM  MAYNARD  CALLED  TO  AN  ACCOUNT. 

"To  the  expanded  and  aspiring  soul, 
To  be  but  still  the  thing  it  long  has  been 
Is  misery,  e'en  though  enthroned  it  were 
Under  the  cope  of  high  imperial  state." 

JOANNA  BAILLIE. 

HE  morning  after  the  party  two  friends  met,  and 
one  expressed  surprise  at  the  other's  absence. 

"  Why  were  you  not  there,  Mark?  We  had  a 
delightful  time;  and  I  heard  Mrs.  Brown  in- 
quiring after  you,  and  Lizzie  sent  her  regrets.  They  feared 
your  mother  was  sick." 

A  strange,  inquiring  glance  shot  from  Mark's  eyes,  that 
betrayed  a  momentary  struggle  between  pride  and  passion ; 
he  felt  that  a  new  insult  was  offered  him,  in  the  shape  of  a 
seeming  solicitude  they  did  not  feel.  He  said  as  much,  and 
his  friend  marvelled  at  this  unwonted  spirit  of  resentment. 

"  Did  they  think  so  mean  of  me  as  to  suppose  I  would 
come  unasked?" 

"  Unasked  !     Certainly  not ;  but  you  'were  asked." 

"  No,  George,  I  was  not  invited ;  and  ignorant  and  un- 
civilized as  I  am,  I  hope  I  have  too  much  good  sense  to 
crowd  myself  in  where  I  am  not  wanted." 

"  There  is  some  mistake  about  this,  Mark,  for  I  was 
present  when  Mr.  Brown  commissioned  Sam  Maynard  to 
write  the  invitations ;  and  when  Sam  asked  for  a  list  of 


LIVING  FOR   THOSE   WE   LOVE.  55 

names,  the  old  gentleman  remarked,  '  There  is  no  necessity 
for  a  list ;  only  mind  and  get  them  all.'  He  was  particular 
to  say,  '  Ask  every  boy  and  girl  in  the  village.'  These  were 
his  own  words." 

Mark  looked  surprised,  and,  as  if  to  excuse  Sam's  negli- 
gence, remarked,  carelessly, — 

"  It's  no  great  affair.  I  suppose  he  thought  I  had  no 
decent  clothes  to  wear,  and  wouldn't  go,  any  way." 

"  That  makes  no  difference,"  rejoined  his  friend  ;  "  he  was 
in  duty  bound  to  fulfil  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Brown's  request,  as  he 
acted  for  them  in  the  matter." 

Mark's  next  thought  was  self-reproachful  and  humiliating  ; 
but  in  a  moment  there  was  in  his  eyes  and  voice  an  expres- 
sion of  joy  his  friend  could  not  understand,  until  he  said, — 

"  Between  Squire  Brown's  family  and  ours  there  have 
always  existed  the  utmost  harmony  and  the  closest  friend- 
ship. We  always  thought  more  of  them  than  anybody  else, 
because  of  their  long-continued  kindness  to  us,  whether  in 
sickness  or  health,  joy  or  sorrow.  How  could  I  have  been 
so  deceived?  I  will  never  trust  to  appearances  again,  until 
I  know  the  truth  ;  and  if  Sam  Maynard  has  some  cause  for 
hating  me,  I  must  know  what  it  is." 

"You  do  not  intend  to  go  to  that  conceited  coxcomb  and 
ask  him,  I  hope.  He  never  had  but  an  idea  and  a  half  in 
his  head  at  a  time.  Hate  you,  Mark !  What  reason  has  he 
to  hate  you,  I  would  like  to  know?  " 

"  That's  just  what  I  would  like  to  know  myself.  So  come 
with  me,  George,  and  we  will  try  and  discover  the  reason. 
He  avoids  me,  and  this  affair  of  the  party  is  as  much  of  a 
mystery  to  me  as  to  yourself." 

George's  only  reply  was  a  look  of  surprise  ;  but  he  followed 
Mark  up  the  street,  and  into  Mr.  Maynard's  store.  Sam 
drew  his  cap  over  his  eyes,  and  pretended  to  be  busy  with  a 
customer,  and,  without  deigning  to  notice  the  twain,  set  up 
an  elaborate  encomium  on  some  tobacco  just  received. 


56  SELF-MADE,    OR 

"  Well,  I  don't  use  the  weed  ;  but  you  may  weigh  me  out 
a  quarter  of  tea  for  the  old  woman  ;  and,  now  I  think  on't, 
I'll  buy  Josh  a  jews-harp.  Have  ye  got  any  ?  " 

«  No  —  yes  —  I  believe  so  ;  at  least  I  will  look  and  see." 

And  so,  with  the  weighing  of  the  tea  and  the  hunting  for 
the  jews-harp,  which  he  could  not  find,  a  full  half  hour  was 
consumed. 

"  Sam,  a  moment  with  you,  if  you  please,"  said  Mark,  as 
he  saw  he  was  determined  to  give  them  the  cold  shoulder. 
The  blood  rushed  to  Sam's  face,  and  his  eye  fell  beneath  the 
strong  gaze  of  the  two  boys;  but  assuming  an  air  of  in- 
difference, he  advanced  and  asked,  — 

"  What  will  you  have  ?  " 

"  Did  you  give  out  the  invitations  to  Lizzie  Brown's 
party  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  did." 

"  You  did  not  give  me  one." 

"  Did  you  expect  one?" 

"  I  did,  most  assuredly." 

"  And  you  want  a  reason,  I  suppose,  why  I  did  not  send 
you  one." 

"  Precisely." 

"  Simply  because  I  thought  your  clothes  unfit  to  wear  to 
such  a  place,  and  the  notice  too  short  for  you  to  obtain  new 
ones.  Is  that  satisfactory  ?  " 

"  Not  exactly  ;  I  had  new  clothes,  and  it  was  not  for  you 
to  say  who  were  to  go  and  who  not.  I  feared  you  had  other 
causes  ;  some  personal  dislike,  or  pique,  or  —  " 

"  None  whatever,  sir.     What  put  that  into  your  head?" 

"  I  have  thought  your  manner  towards  me  changed  some- 
what, since  your  return  home,  especially ;  you  never  speak 
to  me  when  you  meet  me,  and  once  before  you  have  treated 
me  with  contempt." 

"  And  so  I  am  brought  to  an  account  for  my  neglect  of 
the  '  common  hireling  of  the  village.'*  We  are  not  on  equal 
footing,  I  take  it." 


LIVING  FOR   THOSE   WE   LOVE.  57 

An  angry  flush  passed  over  his  face,  succeeded  by  a  smile 
of  insolent  scorn,  as  he  turned  to  wait  on  some  custom- 
ers who  just  then  came  in.  Mark's  heart  beat  thick  and 
fast  as  his  feet  took  him  involuntarily  from  the  store  ;  and 
wending  his  way  homeward,  he  threw  himself  into  a  vacant 
chair  by  the  fire,  without  taking  his  hat  off,  to  think.  For 
more  than  an  hour  he  sat  thus,  without  interchanging  a  word 
'with  his  mother,  who  was  busy  with  her  domestic  affairs. 
But  finally  she  noticed  his  downcast  looks,  and  came  up  be- 
hind him,  and  peered,  inquiringly,  beneath  the  broad  brim 
that  shaded  his  face.  It  wore  its  usual  calmness,  and  she 
thought  it  a  handsome  face. 

"  What  are  you  thinking  about,  Mark?" 

"  I  was  thinking  about  you,  mother." 

His  eyes  sought  hers,  and,  in  a  tremulous  voice,  he  con- 
tinued, "  And  something  about  myself —  though  that  was  a 
secondary  thought."  And  he  felt  the  dreaded  hour  had 
come  when  his  mother  must  know  all. 

"  Mother ! "  he  said,  rising  and  pacing  the  room  to  and 
fro  as  he  spoke,  "  I  cannot  bear  the  idea  of  always  remain- 
ing here  in  Sorreltown,  to  be  '  the  common  hireling  of  the 
village.' " 

These  words  had  much  significance.  They  comprised 
every  kind  of  work  that  was  hard  and  disagreeable,  and  he 
would  have  recalled  them,  for  he  saw,  with  regret,  the  gloom 
that  stole  over  the  kind  mother's  face.  He  observed  the 
long,  sad  glances  thrown  at  his  retreating  form,  as  he  strode 
the  floor  ;  but  they  were  spoken,  and  he  continued,  "  I  have 
looked  away  to  the  hills  that  shut  us  in  here,  and  thought 
there  was  something  beyond  worth  the  seeking." 

A  sigh  from  his  mother  arrested  for  a  moment  his  further 
speech,  and  he  sat  down  by  her  side. 

"  Mother,  you  must  not  oppose  me  ;  I  must  see  what  there 
is  outside  our  little  home  valley,  though  I  will  venture  to 
say,  nothing  pleasanter  will  ever  cross  my  vision.  But  there 


rg  SELF-MADE,    OR 

is  something  for  me  to  do  and  learn  that  will  make  me 
a  man." 

"  Why,  Mark  !  you  are  only  a  boy  yet,"  said  his  mother, 
as  she  thought  of  his  few  inexperienced  years  ;  "  when  you 
are  a  man,  you  will,  no  doubt,  possess  a  man's  abilities  and 
a  man's  ambition.  These  come  only  with  years  and  ex- 
perience, and  you  are  yet  in  your  teens." 

"  True,  mother ;  but  if  I  would  reap  wealth  and  distinc- 
tion in  my  manhood,  I  must  sow  the  seeds  in  my  youth." 

"  Distinction,  my  son,  oftener  eludes  the  giasp  of  those 
who  pursue  it,  than  those  who,  by  patient  merit,  await  her 
coming.  Wealth,  or  at  least  a  competency,  may  be  obtained 
anywhere,  if  we  have  health  and  energy." 

"  It  will  be  a  long  time  coming  to  us  here  in  this  little 
nook  of  a  place,  work  as  we  may.  I  believe  there  is  a  wider 
field  for  me,  in  some  place,  where  my  labour  will  be  better 
rewarded,  and"  —  "  where  I  shall  be  better  appreciated,"  he 
would  have  said ;  but  the  words  died  on  his  lips  ere  they 
were  uttered. 

"  How  long  have  you  thought  of  this,  Mark?" 

"  Ever  since  the  sleigh  ride,"  rose  involuntarily  to  his  lips  ; 
but  that,  too,  was  thrust  back  before  the  thought  was  framed 
into  words,  and  he  said,  — 

"  It  is  not  a  resolution  formed  to-day.  I  have  had  a  long 
conversation  with  Deacon  Sloper,  and  he  seemed  to  approve 
my  plan ;  and  if  I  can  only  get  your  sanction,  mother,  my 
way  is  clear." 

"  Have  you  asked  God  to  sanction  it?" 

"  Yes,  mother,  I  have.  I  will  never  do  anything  upon 
which  I  cannot  first  invoke  his  blessing." 

Mrs.  Miller's  heart  rose  in  gratitude  to  that  Being  who 
has  said,  "  As  the  waters  of  Noah  shall  never  return  to  cover 
the  earth,  so  the  covenant  of  my  peace  shall  never  depart 
from  thee."  She  could  trust  her  boy  in  the  hands  of  the 
Lord  after  that ;  wherever  he  might  go,  her  faith  built  a 


LIVING  FOR   THOSE  WE   LOVE.  59 

bridge  for  his  feet  to  walk  upon,  whether  over  the  deceiving 
quicksands  of  temptation,  or  toiling  up  the  long,  steep  "  hill 
Difficulty,"  or  shrinking  beneath  the  shadows  of  disappoint- 
ment :  she  felt  secure  in  those  promises  which  were  not 
written  in  vain.  While  she  was  sitting  in  the  shadow  of 
the  faded  chintz  that  draped  the  window,  her  eye  sought 
the  various  things  arranged  about  the  room  ;  and  when  she 
remembered  that  they  were  purchased  by  the  sweat  of  the 
brow,  she  knew  how  to  value  them.  Their  real  worth  was 
known  only  to  them,  because  they  only  knew  the  toil  and 
self-denials  they  had  cost.  Every  tin  pan  on  the  dresser, 
even  the  faded  rag  carpet  that  covered  a  part  of  the  floor, 
was  witness  to  the  privations  it  had  cost  to  place  it  there ; 
and  though  they  worked  ever  so  hard,  it  was  as  Mark  had 
said,  they  did  not  seem  to  prosper  very  much.  It  was  a 
kind,  benevolent,  but  care-worn  look  that  greeted  Mark 
when  he  looked  up  from  his  fit  of  abstraction,  and  his  heart 
smote  him  that  he  should  ever  cause  another  line  of  pain  and 
anxiety  to  be  written  there,  in  that  face,  to  him  so  gentle 
and  good  ;  and  he  thought,  for  a  moment,  rather  than  grieve 
that  dear,  kind  mother's  heart  by  a  single  additional  sorrow, 
he  would  forego  his  cherished  purpose,  and  crush  back  the 
hopes  that  promised  such  rich  rewards.  He  saw  the  struggle 
it  cost  his  mother  to  accede  to  those  plans  ;  for  would  it  not 
take  him  away  from  his  home  and  her  presence?  And  hum- 
ble though  that  home  was,  it  possessed  attractions  for  them, 
and  associations  never  to  be  forgotten  or  lightly  esteemed. 

"  There  is  only  one  thing  in  the  way,  mother,"  resumed 
Mark  ;  "  but  for  your  staying  alone  I  could  leave  home  with 
n  light  heart." 

"  But  where  will  you  go,  Mark?  We  have  no  connections 
in  the  world  who  could  aid  you  in  any  way ;  and  as  for 
friends,  I  don't  know  as  we  have  many  outside  of  Sorrel- 
town.  I  would  not  mind  staying  alone  next  summer,  if  it 
was  for  your  good.  I  could  go  on  with  my  spinning  and 


60  SELF-MADE,    OR 

weaving  just  the  same;  old  Brindle  generally  finds  her 
own  way  home,  and  after  the  garden  is  planted,  I  see  but 
little  for  you  to  do  about  home,  and  perhaps  you  might  do 
better  in  some  other  place."  But  the  words  were  uttered  in 
a  tremulous  voice,  and  a  look  almost  doubting  her  own  sin- 
cerity stole  over  her  pale  face,  leaving  traces  of  the  heart- 
struggle  going  on  within. 

"  Mother,  if  you  could  see  me  depart  with  any  degree  of 
satisfaction,  and  think  it  would  be  for  our  mutual  good,  then, 
indeed,  my  mind  is  made  up.  I  thought  of  going  to  Albany. 
Deacon  Sloper  will  give  me  letters  to  some  friends  there  — 
his  own  sister,  who,  if  she  is  any  like  her  good  brother,  will 
take  a  little  interest  in  me,  for  the  sake  of  our  neighborhood 
relations.  Only  let  me  see  you  cheerful,  mother,  and  the 
worst  is  over."  The  tone  of  love  and  anxiety  quite  sealed 
the  mother's  lips,  and  the  better  to  conceal  the  elements  at 
war  in  her  heart,  she  put  the  burning  brands  together,  and 
filled  the  iron  tea-kettle,  and  swung  the  trammel  back,  after 
changing  the  kettle  on  the  hook. 

"  Don't  we  want  a  new  back-log,  mother?" 

"  No.     I  think  this  will  do  for  to-night." 

And  then  a  thought  occurred  to  both.  Who  would  pro- 
vide these  and  other  necessities  —  which  his  strong  arm 
always  brought — when  he  was  away  ?  But  remembering,  if 
he  saw  traces  of  tears  on  her  cheek,  it  might  discourage  him, 
and  decoy  him  from  his  high  purpose,  she  dashed  away  the 
pearly  drops  ere  he  marked  their  falling ;  and  he,  to  gain 
more  confidence  in  himself  and  his  new-wrought  theories, 
whistled  a  lively  air  as  he  took  his  mittens,  and  prepared 
himself  for  his  evening's  chores. 


LIVING  FOR   THOSE   WE   LOVE.  6l 


CHAPTER   VII. 
DEACON  SLOPER'S  MEMORIES  AND  ANTICIPATIONS. 

"Though  old,  he  still  retained 
His  manly  sense  and  energy  of  mind. 
Virtuous  and  wise  he  was,  but  not  severe ; 
He  still  remembered  that  he  once  was  young : 
His  easy  presence  checked  no  decent  joy." 

ARMSTRONG. 

|IFE,  what  do  you  say  to  letting  the  youngsters 
have  a  little  frolic  here  in  our  great  old  house ; 
it's  been  many  a  day  since  there  was  a  fire  in  the 
west  end ;  and  for  once  I'd  like  to  see  it  all  lit  up 
with  pleasant  lights,  and  cheerful  faces,  and  a  blazing  fire 
on  every  hearth.  What  say  you  to  giving  a  grand  New 
Year's  entertainment,  eh?" 

"  Say?  Why,  I  say,  husband,  that  same  thought  has  been 
running  in  my  mind  ever  since  Christmas ;  only  I  thought  I 
would  like  to  see  young  and  old  all  enjoying  themselves  to- 
gether. Sure  there  is  room  enough  in  this  great  barn  of  a 
house  to  entertain  the  whole  neighborhood." 

"  Well,  then,  young  and  old  it  is,"  said  Deacon  Sloper ; 
"  though  I  tell  you,  wife,  it  will  spoil  all  the  fun  for  the  younger 
ones  to  be  set  up  with  their  fathers  and  mothers  ;  they  won't 
enjoy  it  half  as  well ;  no,  no,  let's  have  one  at  a  time." 

"  Please  yourself,  my  dear  ;  it  is  as  well,  perhaps,  for  New 
Year's  is  too  near  at  hand  to  think  of  making  much  prepara- 
tion." 

"  What'll  you  have  to  do  to  get  ready  ?  " 


62  SELF-MADE,   OR 

"  O,  there  will  be  mince  pies,  and  tart  pies,  pound  cake, 
and  loaf  cake  to  make,  and  turkeys  and  chickens  to  stuff, 
and  all  the  china  to  wash  up  clean,  the  silver  to  rub  up,  and 
the  brass  to  scour,  and  the  nuts  to  crack,  and  the  apples  to 
wipe  off,  and  all  the  beds  to  be  made  over,  and  the  chintz 
curtains  to  come  down,  and  the  dimity  ones  put  up,  and  —  " 

"  O,  wife,  wife,  don't  enumerate  any  further.  Why,  every- 
thing about  the  house  is  as  slick  as  a  new  ribbon  ;  and  what's 
the  use  in  tearing  up  everything,  and  making  such  a  fuss 
over  a  little  jollification  for  the  young  ones?  Bake  a  few 
pies,  cut  a  new  cheese,  and  we'll  have  some  chestnuts,  and 
some  apples  and  cider  passed  around,  and  thaf  s  enough." 

But  Mrs.  Sloper,  the  most  thrifty  and  notable  housewife 
in  Sorreltown,  never  did  things  by  halves ;  and  all  that  was 
enumerated  in  her  catalogue,  and  much  more,  was  accom- 
plished between  the  following  morning  and  New  Year's  day. 
The  whole  house  was  turned  topsy-turvy,  and  by  the  time 
she  was  done  with  the  airing  and  the  dusting,  the  sweeping, 
the  scouring,  and  the  polishing,  the  good  deacon,  who  was 
glad  of  an  excuse  to  absent  himself,  had  paid  a  visit  to  near- 
ly every  house  in  town,  and,  after  chatting  and  talking  of  the 
weather,  the  crops,  politics,  and  religion,  wound  up  by  in- 
viting the  young  people  to  his  house  on  New  Year's  night. 

"  And  so  you're  going  to  have  a  party  at  your  house,  I 
hear  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Strange,  as  the  deacon  seated  himself  in  the 
splint-bottomed  chair,  which  Nettie  set  for  him,  after  punch- 
ing up  the  feather  cushion,  to  make  it  soft  and  inviting. 

"  Why,  yes,  a  little  bit  of  a  gathering  for  the  youngsters : 
there  didn't  seem  to  be  anything  going  on,  and  I  thought  I'd 
just  like  to  see  how  it  would  seem  to  have  the  old  house  lit 
up  once  more,  and  hear  the  merry  voices  of  song  and  laugh- 
ter ;  and  I  guess  I'll  get  a  fiddle,  and  let  'em  dance." 

"  O,  Mr.  Sloper !  are  they  going  to  dance?"  cried  Nettie, 
whose  wide  open  eyes  and  ears  caught  every  syllable  as  it 
was  uttered.  "  I  never  saw  any  dancing.  How  I  should 
like  —  " 


LIVING  FOR   THOSE   WE   LOVE.  63 

"  Go  about  your  work  now,  and  not  be  begging  invita- 
tions where  you're  not  wanted.  When  Mr.  Sloper  wants 
you  to  go,  he  will  say  so.  Put  some  more  wood  on  the  fire, 
pick  up  that  bridle,  and  sweep  them  husks  out  o'  doors. 
I  declare,  if  the  floor  ain't  worse'n  a  barn  floor ;  if  them 
boys  fetch  any  more  of  their  pop-corn  in  here,  they'll  be 
sorry ;  and  I  wish  he'd  mend  his  bridles  somewhere  else. 
How  on  airth  Mrs.  Sloper  can  keep  her  house  looking  so 
decent,  is  more'n  I  can  tell.  But  she's  no  young  ones  to 
litter  up,  as  I  have.  I'm  about  discouraged  trying  to  keep 
soul  and  body  together.  But,  Mr.  Sloper,  you're  not  going 
yet?  Sit  down  a  spell  longer." 

"  I  must  go  soon  ;  I  have  to  go  over  to  '  the  grove '  yet, 
to-night,  and  that  is  quite  a  step  from  here.  I  want  you  to 
let  Nettie  come  without  fail ;  I  came  on  purpose  to  ask  her. 
I  want  every  young  person  for  five  miles  around  to  be  there. 
My  sleigh  will  come  for  her  about  dark  ;  and,  Nettie,  my  good 
girl,"  said  the  generous  old  man,  patting  her  on  the  cheek, 
"  you  must  look  your  prettiest,  though  I'll  lay  a  wager  there 
will  be  no  sweeter  face  in  the  room  than  yours.  If  your 
mother  could  spare  you,  I  know  who  would  be  glad  to  get 
you  for  his  own." 

"  Let's  see ;  it's  nigh  on  to  six  year  since  Lucy  was  mar- 
ried—ain't it?" 

u  Yes,  almost  seven ;  and  since  then  the  old  house  seems 
lonesome  like,  with  us  two  old  folks  in  it  all  alone  ;  but  we 
are  getting  used  to  it  now ;  at  first  it  was  like  as  there  had 
been  a  funeral  in  it,  when  the  last  of  seven  went  away ! " 

"  And  many  another  aged  couple  has  felt  the  same,  and 
said  the  same,"  said  aunt  Bessie,  the  moisture  gathering  in 
her  quiet  eyes.  "  Thus  it  was  in  rny  own  father's  family. 
'  We  were  seven,'  and  it  seems  but  yesterday  when  we  were 
children  at  our  mother's  knee  ;  and  now  we  are  scattered  the 
wide  world  over,  no  two  in  a  place.  And  so  the  children 
of  her  love  went  out  into  the  world,  one  after  another,  I 


64  SELF-MADE,  OR 

among  the  rest.  We  have  never  been  all  together  under  the 
old  roof-tree  since.  The  boys  became  men,  and  went  off, 
one  to  his  farm,  another  to  his  merchandise.  The  girls  lis- 
tened to  the  soft  eloquence  that  love  pours  into  the  ears  of 
blushing  maidenhood,  and  they  too  went  out  from  the  old 
home,  leaning  upon  the  faith  of  strangers.  So  it  is,  and  so 
it  must  ever  be  while  the  world  lasts.  But  mother  said  she 
was  comforted  that  she  had  so  many  and  such  good  children, 
and  that  they  were  all  happily  married  to  good  wives  and 
husbands." 

"  Good  evening,  Mrs.  Strange ;  good  evening,  Nettie. 
You  must  be  sure  and  come ;  be  all  ready  by  six  o'clock." 

"  Yes,  I  will,"  smiled  Nettie  ;  and  her  eyes  glistened  like 
two  diamonds  at  the  thought  of  going  to  a  party. 

"  What  do  they  do  at  a  party,  I  wonder !  and  what  is  one 
like  ?  "  she  would  say  to  herself  a  dozen  times  a  day.  She 
would  like  to  ask  somebody,  but  her  mother  has  been  so 
cross  all  day,  she  dares  not  allude  to  the  subject  that  is  up- 
permost in  her  thoughts. 

Mark  was  invited,  and  so  were  the  Maynards,  and  their 
friend  Miss  Grace  Pearson,  who  acknowledged  in  very  lady- 
like terms  the  happiness  it  would  afford  her  to  be  present. 
"Is  it  to  be  a  quilting  or  a  paring  bee?"  inquired  Mrs. 
Maynard,  when  she  had  learned  the  object  of  Mr.  Sloper's 
visit. 

"Neither,  ma'am,  but  a  real  old-fa&hioned  New  Year's 
frolic,  such  as  we  used  to  have  when  I  was  a  boy." 

"No  dancing,  I  suppose?"  said  Helen,  who  knew  the 
deacon's  proclivities  for  long  prayers  and  short  stories. 

"Dancing?  Well,  yes,  mebbe ;  we  don't  know  what 
might  happen.  You  had  better  bring  along  your  pumps, 
so's  to  be  prepared,  in  case  —  " 

"  Why,  Deacon  Sloper  !  and  you  a  church  member  !  and 
a  deacon,  too !  " 

But  that  he  was  a  member,  in  good  standing,  of  the  Baptist 


LIVING  FOR  THOSE   WE   LOVE.  65 

church  in  Sorreltown,  the  books  which  he  himself  kept 
gave  unmistakable  evidence ;  and  since  the  memory  of 
the  oldest  inhabitant  no  accusation  against  himself  of  the 
slightest  weight  could  be  found  in  their  infallible  records. 
He  was  an  honourable  man,  and  a  faithful  Christian  in  every 
sense  of  the  word  ;  and  so  he  was  going  to  give  to  the  chil- 
dren and  the  young  people  of  the  village  a  little  "  hop " 
under  his  own  roof.  To  be  sure  he  was. 

"  What's  the  harm,  pray?" 

"  JVo  harm,  Mr.  Sloper  ;  but  what  will  folks  say?" 

"  Mebbe  a  few  will  grumble,  but  I've  counted  noses 
around,  and  shall  have  a  majority  on  my  side ;  so  good 
evening,  ladies." 

"  Good  evening."     "  Good  evening." 

"  O,  delightful ! "  cried  Helen  Maynard.  "  We  shall  have 
a  splendid  time.  Mrs.  Sloper  always  gives  such  excellent 
suppers,  and  the  house  is  large  enough  to  hold  all  Sorrel- 
town." 

"  It  is  that  large  house,  with  such  a  number  of  gables  and 
chimneys,  down  by  the  river,  I  think  you  told  me." 

"  Yes,  that  one  which  stands  back  from  the  road,  with 
two  great  elms  in  front.  In  summer  it  is  most  beautiful,  for 
the  yard  is  full  of  lilacs  and  snow-balls,  peonies  and  roses, 
and  vines  that  clamber  to  the  eaves.  Then  there  is  an  arbour 
down  by  the  spring,  where  the  wild  honeysuckles  grow  so 
thick  one  can  hardly  see  through  them.  There's  also  a 
swing  down  by  that  clump  of  poplars,  and  a  grove  of  wild 
plum  and  crab-apple  trees,  where  it's  real  fun  to  go  in  sum- 
mer when  there  is  no  dew  on  the  grass.  O,  I  think  you 
would  like  Sorreltown  in  summer.  It  was  not  then  the  deso- 
late looking  place  it  is  now ;  that  is,  you  would  like  it  as 
well  as  you  could  any  country  place.  To  be  sure,  there's 
not  much  society  here ;  but  I've  become  so  accustomed  to 
do  without  that,  I  do  not  mind  it." 

"  No  society  !     Why,  I  think  your  neighbours  very  kind, 

5 


66  SELF-MADE,   OR 

good  people,"  said  Grace  Pearson,  who  was  quite  indisposed 
to  admit  the  truth  of  Helen's  assertion. 

"  Why,  yes,  they  are  kind  enough,  and  good  enough,  for 
that  matter  ;  but  there's  no  intelligence  or  refinement  amongst 
them.  They  dress  so  old-fashioned,  all  in  homespun.  Pa 
hardly  sells  a  yard  of  silk  or  broadcloth  the  year  round. 
And  they  talk  and  act  so  inelegantly !  I  almost  blush  for 
my  own  mother  sometimes.  She  has  acquired  their  ways 
by  mingling  with  her  neighbours,  which  she  is  obliged  to  do, 
you  know.  I  wish  pa  would  move  to  the  city :  every  time 
I  come  home  from  school,  the  place  has  less  attractions  for 
me.  There  isn't  a  marriageable  young  gentleman  in  it.  And 
there  hasn't  been  a  wedding  in  it  since  —  I  don't  know  when 
—  since  poor  Lucy  Sloper  was  married  and  went  away." 

"  Who  was  she?   Deacon  Sloper's  daughter?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Why  do  you  say  poor  Lucy  Sloper?" 

"  Why,  you  see,  a  young  student  from  —  dear  me,  I  can't 
think  of  the  name  of  the  college  where  he  graduated  —  butj 
he  was  going  away  off  to  some  of  those  heathenish  islands 
in  the  Pacific,  as  a  missionary.  No,  I  believe  it  was  to 
Burmah ,  where  they  went,  or  to  Greece,  I  don't  remember 
which." 

"  Did  she  go  with  him  ? "  asked  Miss  Pearson,  much 
excited,  and  without  waiting  for  Helen  to  finish  her  nar- 
ration. 

"  Yes,  to  be  sure  she  did  !  They  were  married,  and  left 
Boston,  with  a  great  many  more  missionaries,  for  that  out- 
landish, heathenish  country.  I'd  as  soon  have  tied  a  mill- 
stone to  my  neck,  and  gone  to  the  bottom  of  the  sea  at  once. 
That  was  a  good  many  years  ago.  I  was  not  more  than 
twelve  years  old ;  but  I  remember  the  wedding,  and  howl 
people  talked  about  it  for  a  long  time." 

"What  did  they  say?" 

"  O,  they  thought  it  was  queer  that  she,  so  young  and  so 


LIVING  FOR   THOSE   WE   LOVE.  67 

beautiful,  should  take  such  an  odd  fancy  into  her  head ;  and 
queerer  still  that  he  should  love  her,  a  plain  country  girl ; 
though  she  had  been  off  to  school  somewhere  in  Massa- 
chusetts :  there's  where  they  became  acquainted ;  and  people 
said  they  guessed  she'd  repent  her  choice,  and  all  that ;  but 
what  was  more  surprising  than  all,  was  the  perfect  willing- 
ness of  her  father  and  mother  to  give  her  up.  They  never 
raised  a  single  objection,  though  they  knew  it  was  as  if  they 
buried  her." 

"Had  they  other  children?" 

"  La,  yes,  a  whole  snarl  of  them  ;  but  they  were  all  mar- 
ried, and  a  long  way  from  home.  She  was  the  last  of  them 
all,  the  little  pet  lamb  of  the  flock." 

"  But  they  heard  from  her  often  —  did  they  not?" 

"  Not  very  often  :  once  she  wrote  from  some  little  island 
where  they  stopped  to  take  in  fresh  water.  She  described  it 
as  a  cheerless,  desolate  looking  place,  but  said  it  was  far 
pleasanter  than  the  rolling  ship.  It  was  a  year  before  the 
letter  came  ;  and  then  again  after  she  arrived  at  —  dear  me, 
I  wish  I  could  remember  the  name  of  the  place ;  but  I'm  so 
forgetful !  besides,  I  have  no  taste  for  these  missionary  enter- 
prises, or  sympathy  for  those  who  go  to  heathen  lands. 
But  she  wrote  several  long  letters  after  her  arrival  there, 
and  they  were  published  in  Boston,  and  created  a  great 
sensation,  so  I've  heard  say ;  and  after  she  died,  there  was  a 
great  deal  said  and  written  about  her,  as  being  '  a  noble, 
gifted,  heavenly-minded  woman,  just  such  a  one  as  the 
infant  missionary  cause  needed  there.'  That  was  all  very 
flattering ;  but  what  good  could  it  do  her,  after  she  had 
sacrificed  her  life,  and  was  in  her  grave?" 

The  listener's  heart  heaved  with  emotion,  and  she  wept  as 
she  thought  of  the  dear  girl  sleeping  beneath  the  shadow  of 
some  lone  "  Hopia  Tree,"  thousands  of  miles  from  her 
kindred  shore ;  and  wondered  if,  in  the  morning  of  the  res- 
urrection, her  glorified  spirit  would  seek  among  the  old, 


68  SELF-MADE,   OR 

forgotten  graves  of  Hindostan  the  frail  tenement  that  once 
held  such  a  godlike  soul !  But  she  was  silent,  and  Helen 
proceeded. 

"  It  was  two  years  after  her  death  before  the  old  people 
appeared  at  all  like  their  former  selves  ;  and  yet  no  one  ever 
heard  them  murmur,  or  say  they  were  sorry  she  went,  or 
take  any  blame  upon  themselves  for  consenting  to  it.  They 
never  like  to  talk  about  it  much.  Once  I  remember  asking 
Mrs.  Sloper  if  she  was  not  sorry  Lulie  went  away  to  Bur- 
mah  —  yes,  that's  the  place  where  they  went  —  and  you 
ought  to  have  seen  the  smile  on  her  ashen-white  face  when 
she  answered,  '  Sorry?  No,  Helen,  I  am  not  sorry,  but 
glad,  that  I  had  a  lamb  so  young  and  spotless  to  offer  to  the 
Lord.  We  gave  her  to  Him  at  her  birth,  and  when  she  was 
eighteen  He  called  for  her.  Though  we  little  thought,  when 
we  lay  our  little,  wee  lammie  on  God's  altar,  that  He  would 
accept  our  sacrifice  in  such  a  way,  or  that  one  so  humbly 
born,  and  so  sinful,  as  myself,  could  present  so  pure  a  thing 
for  His  acceptance.'  '  But,'  said  I,  '  she  might  have  served 
God  in  some  other  way,  and  been  alive  now,  and  living  near 
you.'  '  She  is  always  near  me,'  said  Mrs.  Sloper ;  '  and 
though  her  dear  body  lies  far  away  from  the  rest  of  them,  it 
will  be  just  the  same  when  the  dead  shall  rise.  I  am  never 
unhappy  when  I  think  of  those  who  have  gone  home  be- 
fore me.' " 

"  Has  she  lost  other  children?" 

"  Yes,  three  or  four ;  but  not  until  they  were  married,  and 
gone  from  home.  I  believe  they  have  but  two  left :  one  is  a 
minister  out  west  somewhere,  and  their  daughter  lives  in 
Albany." 

"  Lives  in  Albany  !     What  is  her  name  ?  " 

"  Mrs.  Lbveland.  Her  husband  has  a  bank  there.  They 
are  wealthy,  and  she  sends  her  mother  sights  of  nice  things 
every  year.  There !  I've  broken  my  needle,  and  it's  the  only 
decent  one  I  had  to  sew  with." 


LIVING  FOR   THOSE   WE   LOVE.  69 

"  Here  is  my  needle-book ;  help  yourself.  Does  this  old 
couple  have  no  one  with  them?  Are  they  living  alone?  " 

"  O,  they  are  hardly  ever  alone.  They  have  very  nice 
company  from  the  city,  and  their  house  is  always  head- 
quarters for  persons  of  note,  young  and  old,  who  come  out 
here  ruralizing  in  the  summer.  Last  summer  there  was  a 
splendid  young  gentleman  stopped  there  for  several  weeks  ; 
but  he  was  very  seclusive.  I  invited  him  to  dinner,  and  to 
horseback  rides ;  but  he  always  declined  with  such  a  gentle- 
manly air,  I  could  not  help  but  like  him.  He  was  a  con- 
valescent." 

"A  what?" 

"No,  not  exactly  a  convalescent,  but  a  —  what  do  you 
call  it?  He  had  been  in  ill  health  a  long  time,  and  came  out 
here  for  a  change  of  air :  his  physician  recommended  it." 

"  A  valetudinarian." 

"  Yes,  that's  the  word  I  was  trying  to  think  of.  But  ain't 
you  getting  sleepy?" 

"  No,  indeed  ;  I  am  very  much  interested  in  your  friends, 
and  by  the  clock  it  wants  a  quarter  to  nine.  Tell  me  more 
about  Mrs.  Sloper.  Does  she  keep  any  servant,  or  any  one 
to  assist  her?" 

"  She  generally  has  a  girl  to  do  the  spinning,  and  another 
during  harvest.  But  mercy  !  she  is  smarter  than  you  and  I 
both,  and  can  do  more  work.  You  will  see  how  nice  every- 
thing will  be,  when  you  go  there  New  Year's.  I  suppose 
Mrs.  Miller  will  help  her  along  with  her  preparations  for 
the  party.  She  lives  close  by,  and  is  always  at  hand  when 
wanted  for  a  day's  work.  And  I  presume  her  son,  Mark, 
will  be  at  the  party.  O,  you'll  laugh  when  you  see  him.  I 
know  he'll  be  there,  for  the  deacon  won't  miss  any ;  besides, 
he  is  a  great  favorite  of  the  deacon's." 

"Who  is?" 

"  Mark  Miller,  widow  Miller's  son.  They  live  in  that 
little  log  hut,  down  under  the  hill,  just  before  you  come  to 
Mr.  Sloper's." 


yO  SELF-MADE,    OR 

"  I  remember  it,  and  I  think  it  a  cosy  little  place,  though 
the  house  is  built  of  rough  logs.  Why  do  you  think  I  will 
laugh  when  I  come  to  see  this  man?" 

"  He  is  not  a  man.  He's  a  mere  boy,  not  more  than  six- 
teen or  seventeen ;  but  he  is  so  queer  and  old-fashioned,  so 
countrified,  and  demure  as  a  parson." 

"  Are  they  very  poor?" 

"  Poor  !     Yes,  indeed  ;  they  have  hard  work  to  live." 

"  You  mean,  they  have  to  work  hard,  to  live." 

"  Yes,  he  is  the  hired  '  help  '  of  the  village,  and  his  mother 
weaves  cloth,  and  coverlets,  and  spins  linen,  and  does  a' most 
anything  that  comes  along  to  make  a  living.  But  she  is  a 
real  good  woman  for  all  that.  She  is  so  good  in  sickness  ; 
and  she  always  has  a  kind  word  for  everybody  and  every- 
thing." 

"  And  is  not  her  son  like  her?  " 

"  O,  yes  ;  he's  a  pattern  of  goodness,  for  that  matter ;  but 
he  is  so  awkward  and  clumsy ;  not  about  his  work,  though. 
He  is  very  active  and  smart  when  at  work ;  but  he  has  so 
little  refinement,  and  dresses  so  shabbily  ;  no,  not  exactly 
shabby,  for  his  clothes  are  clean,  and  patched  and  repatched, 
until  you  could  hardly  tell  the  original  garment;  and  wears 
such  great  hob-nailed  shoes,  and  hats  that  have  neither 
crown  or  rim."  And  a  little  laugh  wound  up  this  last 
sentence. 

"  Has  he  no  education?  " 

"Y-e-s,  he's  picked  up  considerable  learning,  here  and 
there ;  though  I  wonder  how,  for  he  only  goes  to  school  a 
little  while  during  the  winter,  and  the  rest  of  the  time  he  is 
hard  at  work.  But  he  reads  a  great  deal.  I  have  heard 
Mrs.  Sloper  say  there  was  not  a  book  in  Sorreltown  that  he 
had  not  read ;  and  I  presume  he  studies  at  home.  Pa  has 
often  set  up  Mark  as  a  pattern  for  us,  and  said,  if  we  were 
half  as  industrious  as  Mark,  we  would  get  along  faster.  He 
outstripped  us  all  in  arithmetic  last  winter,  and  is  a  better 


LIVING  FOR   THOSE   WE   LOVE.  Jl 

reader  and  speller  than  any  of  us.  What  will  you  wear  to 
the  party  ?  " 

"  I  hardly  know.  Some  warm  dress  will  be  most  com- 
fortable, as  the  weather  is  so  cold." 

Helen  thought  the  weather  might  moderate ;  and  as  she 
was  quite  desirous  that  her  guest  should  create  a  sensation, 
she  intimated  that  she  had  a  choice  in  the  matter.  It  took 
her  a  long  time  to  choose  for  herself  between  her  bottle- 
green  silk  and  scarlet  merino.  At  length  the  latter  was 
decided  upon,  as  being  the  least  liable  to  get  torn  or  soiled. 
Miss  Pearson,  to  please  her  friend,  decided  to  wear  a  rich 
changeable  silk. 

Long  before  night  the  deacon  had  forgotten  he  had  invited 
Nettie  Strange  to  his  house ;  but  with  Nettie  it  was  quite 
different.  She  was  as  tremulous  as  a  young  aspen  all  day. 
She  hardly  dared  to  broach  the  subject  of  the  party  to  her 
mother ;  and  whenever  she  addressed  her,  her  voice  seemed 
modulated  to  more  than  its  usual  gentleness,  fearing,  all  the 
while,  some  untoward  circumstance  might  interrupt  her 
anticipated  enjoyment.  Life's  stern  lessons  had  put  a  wo- 
man's heart  in  that  childish  bosom  ;  and  so  Nettie  hid  all 
her  thoughts  there,  and  was  brooding  tremblingly  over  them. 


72  SELF-MADE,   OR 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

A  NEW  YEAR'S  PARTY  AT  MRS.  SLOPER'S. 

"  Thou'rt  like  a  star ;  for  when  my  way 

Was  cheerless  and  forlorn, 
And  all  was  blackness,  like  the  sky 

Before  a  coming  storm, 
Thy  beaming  smile  and  words  of  love, 

Thy  heart  of  kindness  free, 
Illumed  my  path,  then  cheered  my  soul, 
And  bade  its  sorrow  flee." 

AMERICAN  LADIES'  MAGAZINE. 

"  Great  souls  by  instinct  to  each  other  turn, 
Demand  alliance,  and  in  friendship  burn." 

ADDISON. 

|T  was  still  and  warm  on  New  Year's  night.  All 
day  long  had  the  bright  sunshine  dallied  with 
the  frosted  pane,  the  snowflakes  lying  on  the 
window-ledges,  and  the  icicles  depending  from 
the  eaves,  until  they  wept  themselves  away  in  an  agony  of 
joy,  seemingly  happy  that  their  brief  life  had  helped  to 
make  glorious  the  new  advent.  The  snow  lay  deep  upon 
the  ground,  the  warm  sun  had  spread  a  shining  radiance 
over  it ;  and  now,  as  it  glittered  in  the  mellow  moonlight,  it 
seemed  studded  with  jewels  and  precious  stones. 

There  are  lights  in  every  window,  happy  earnest  voices 
in  every  house,  and  gladness  in  every  heart.  Even  Mrs. 
Strange  has  caught  the  infection  ;  for  she  is  assisting  Nettie 
vr'.th  her  toilet,  has  done  her  hair  very  prettily,  and  bidden 


LIVING   FOR   THOSE   WE   LOVE.  73 

Nettie  look  in  the  glass  to  see  how  long  and  nicely  it  curls. 
The  pink  dress  and  white  apron  are  airing  on  a  chair,  all 
ready  to  be  adjusted  after  she  has  put  on  her  new  shoes  and 
white  lamb's-wool  stockings.  There,  now  she  is  all  ready, 
and  surveying  herself  in  the  broken  mirror,  though  it  is  so 
small  she  can  only  see  a  portion  of  herself  at  a  time ;  yet 
by  moving  it  around,  first  looking  at  her  face,  then  her  feet, 
then  her  arms,  and  so  on,  she  scrutinizes  the  whole  form 
with  much  satisfaction. 

O,  she  is  so  happy !  All  the  reproofs  with  which  her 
ears  have  been  assailed  since  morning  are  forgotten,  or 
remembered  as  a  troubled  dream  from  which  she  has 
awakened,  to  know  disquietude  no  more !  The  clock  has 
struck  six,  and  Nettie  is  becoming  quite  alarmed  for  fear 
Mr.  Sloper  has  forgotten  to  come  for  her,  when  her  ready 
ear  catches  the  sound  of  sleigh-bells.  In  another  quarter  of 
an  hour,  Nettie  has  been  deposited  in  Mrs.  Sloper's  great 
arm-chair  by  the  kitchen  fire,  until  she  gets  thoroughly 
warmed. 

Rapidly  over  the  smooth  white  ground  come  the  sleighs, 
depositing  their  happy  cargoes  at  the  front  door,  and  then 
ofF  again  as  speedily  as  they  came.  By  seven  o'clock  the 
great  old  house,  that  was  flooded  with  light  and  warmth 
two  hours  before,  is  filled  with  as  merry  a  group  of  young 
folks  as  ever  hailed  the  advent  of  the  New  Year.  Nettie's 
heart  beat  faster  and  faster,  as  she  saw  the  rooms  filling  up 
with  gayly-dressed  ladies  and  gentlemen.  There  was  a 
great  tumult  of  voices,  which  generally  dropped  into  si- 
lence until  a  fresh  arrival  was  announced,  and  the  new 
coiners  had  been  greeted  by  their  companions,  welcomed 
by  their  host,  and  the  curiosity  of  each  gratified  by  looking 
around  to  see  who  were  there,  and  how  they  were  dressed. 
Then  the  hum  of  voices  .again  arose,  some  relating  a  par- 
ticular adventure  as  happening  to  themselves,  others  laugh- 
ing as  though  it  were  really  laughable,  while  others  were 


74  SELF-MADE,    OR 

grouped  together  around  the  table,  or  in  a  corner  of  the 
ample  fireplace,  from  which  glowed  so  bright  a  fire,  that 
it  was  next  to  impossible  to  set  foot  on  the  broad  rug  in 
front. 

Miss  Pearson  and  Helen  Maynard  were  sitting  near  the 
door  when  Mark  entered. 

"  Who  is .  that  ? "  was  just  on  the  lips  of  the  former, 
when  Helen  suddenly  averted  her  eyes,  and  whispered  side- 
wise, — 

"  There  comes  Mark  Miller.  I  told  you  he'd  be  here.  O, 
my  goodness  gracious  !  How  sniptious  he  looks  !  —  a  span 
new  suit,  and  a  standing  shirt-collar !  Would  you  like  an 
introduction?"  said  she,  ironically. 

"  Ties,  I  would"  rejoined  her  companion,  in  a  tone  of 
decision  that  gave  her  friend  no  room  to  doubt  the  sincerity 
of  the  words. 

Helen  felt  a  little  abashed  at  the  prompt  and  rather  tart 
manner  in  which  her  attempt  at  raillery  was  cut  short.  She 
had  anticipated  a  whole  evening's  enjoyment  for  herself  and 
Miss  Pearson,  in  keeping  as  much  aloof  from  the  company 
as  possible,  and  in  criticising  the  dress  and  mannerisms  of 
each  and  all.  She  had,  indeed,  abundant  opportunity  of 
displaying  her  spirit  of  sarcasm,  supposing,  very  foolishly, 
that  one  born  and  bred  in  the  city,  and  accustomed  to  re- 
fined society,  as  Grace  had  been,  could  see  nothing  in  the 
little  circle  before  her  but  awkwardness  and  countrified  airs. 
How  great  was  her  disappointment,  when,  a  few  moments 
after,  she  politely  requested  of  Mr.  Sloper  an  introduction 
to  each  of  his  guests ! 

"  Well,  I'm  not  much  on  etiquette,  Miss  Pearson ;  so  I 
guess  I'll  turn  you  over  to  Mr.  Maynard.  Here,  Samuel, 
please  take  Miss  Pearson  under  your  wing,  and  present  her 
to  the  company.  You  are  more  used  to  these  little  niceties 
than  I  am  ;  besides,  I  am  wanted  down  stairs  just  now. 
Make  yourselves  at  home,  all  of  you.  I  want  you  to  enjoy 


LIVING   FOR   THOSE   WE   LOVE.  75 

yourselves  to  the  fullest  extent;  get  up  some  plays  —  can't 
you  ?  "  So  saying,  he  left  the  room  ;  and  Grace,  under  the 
escort  of  Sam,  was  taken  around  and  introduced  to  all. 
Mark  was  sitting  by  the  table,  his  face  all  aglow  with  cheer- 
fulness ;  and  yet  there  occasionally  came  over  his  heart  a 
saddened  feeling  as  he  recollected  that  the  time  was  soon 
coming  when  he  would  be  far  away  from  the  scenes  and 
companions  of  his  childhood.  He  felt  quite  sure  this  was 
the  last  time  he  should  see  them  all  together.  In  making 
the  circuit  of  her  new  acquaintances,  Miss  Pearson  found 
many  intelligent,  joyous-looking  faces,  who  responded  to  her 
simple,  yet  lady-like  questions  with  a  freedom  and  grace 
that  would  have  done  honor  to  any  circle  in  society,  how- 
ever refined.  At  length  they  came  to  where  Mark  was 
sitting.  He  instinctively  arose,  prepared  to  make  his  best 
bow  in  his  best  possible  style.  But  without  deigning  to 
notice  him,  Sam  was  passing  on  to  the  next,  when  Grace 
reminded  him  of  Mark's  presence,  by  saying,  — 

"  We  have  missed  one  gentleman." 

"  O,  he's  of  no  account ;  never  mind  him." 

"  Please  introduce  me." 

"Is  it  your  wish?" 

"  Yes,  I  insist." 

"  Well,  then,  put  on  all  your  dignity ! "  But  Mark, 
meanwhile,  had  walked  away  to  hide  the  mortification  that 
well  nigh  overcame  him.  He  knew  too  well  the  slight  was 
intended.  He  knew,  too,  that  others  saw  it ;  but  he  did  not 
know  the  interest  he  had  already  awakened  in  the  heart  of 
the  fair  girl,  who,  in  after  years,  was  to  become  the  guiding 
star  of  his  life.  Why  she  felt  so  deep  an  interest  in  one  a 
total  stranger  to  her,  she  hardly  knew  herself;  but  since  the 
conversation  with  Helen  Maynard,  and  more  especially  since 
she  had  seen  Mark,  she  desired  to  know  him.  His  face 
pleased  her ;  and  once,  as  she  encountered  his  large  dark 
eyes,  beaming  full  upon  her,  she  became  spell-bound  under 


76  SELF-MADE,   OR 

his  earnest,  mystic  gaze,  although  it  lasted  but  a  moment. 
The  joyous  lustre,  that  shone  out  of  their  clear  depths  for  the 
instant,  faded  away,  and  a  saddened,  almost  sorrowful  ex- 
pression succeeded,  as  if  there  was  a  whole  heartful  of 
unhappy  emotions  struggling  to  betray  themselves  in  his 
countenance.  Their  eyes  met  no  more  until  a  little  acci- 
dent—  a  serious  one  it  liked  to  have  been  ;  a  happy  one  for 
both  it  proved  to  be  —  brought  them  into  a  close  compan- 
ionship, which  lasted  until  the  close  of  the  pleasant  evening's 
entertainment,  and  until  —  the  close  of  life  ! 


LIVING  FOR   THOSE  WE  LOVE. 


CHAPTER    IX. 
A  FORTUNE-TELLER  COMES  TO  THE  PARTY. 

"  Then  all  was  jollity, 

Feasting  and  mirth,  light  wantonness  and  laughter, 
Piping  and  playing,  minstrelsies  and  masking." 

ROWE. 

||HOSE  beautiful  little  face  is  this?"  said  Grace 
Pearson,  as  she  found  herself  by  the  kitchen  fire, 
where  still  sat  Nettie  in  the  arm-chair,  having 
been  until  now  quite  overlooked,  although  she 
saw  and  enjoyed  all  that  was  passing  till  her  eyes  shone  and 
twinkled  like  two  stars  set  in  the  brow  of  evening. 

"  This?"  replied  the  deacon,  patting  Nettie  affectionately 
on  the  cheek,  which  looked  as  rosy  as  a  red  apple  in  the 
bright  fire-light.  "Why,  this  is  my  little  friend  Nettie 
Strange,  as  good  a  girl  as  lives  in  the  world.  Bless  me ! 
Nettie,  have  you  been  sitting  here  all  this  time?  You  must 
get  up  and  make  yourself  agreeable.  This  is  Miss  Pearson, 
Nettie ;  I  am  sure  she  will  love  you ;  but  if  she  don't,  I 
know  who  does." 

"  I  am  sure  I  shall  love  her,  and  I  know  she  must  be 
good ;  no  one  can  have  such  beautiful  blue  eyes  and  not  be 
good.  What  pretty  brown  ringlets,  and  how  long  they  are, 
too  !  "  and  Grace  wound  her  fingers  around  them,  separating 
the  two  large  curls  which  shaded  her  temples  into  smaller 
ones,  making  them  very  beautiful.  Then  she  took  some  lit- 
tle rose-buds  from  her  own  hair,  and  placed  them  in  Nettie's, 
much  to  the  admiration  of  the  deacon. 


^8  SELF-MADE,    OR 

Nettie's  heart  fluttered  like  a  frightened  bird.  It  was  the 
first  time  she  had  ever  heard  herself  called  beautiful ;  and  to 
be  called  both  beautiful  and  good  in  the  same  breath  nearly 
took  hers  away. 

Grace  was  no  flatterer ;  she  was  kind  and  sociable,  not 
from  a  desire  to  be  praised  and  petted  as  a  favourite,  but 
from  true  benevolence,  and  a  disposition  to  make  all  happy 
who  came  within  her  sphere.  And  so  she  spoke  kindly  to 
Nettie,  and  imprinted  a  kiss  upon  her  forehead,  saying, 
"  You  must  be  my  little  chaperon  for  the  rest  of  the  evening." 
Grace's  back  was  to  the  fire,  and  as  she  stooped  to  bestow 
the  kiss,  which  to  Nettie  seemed  like  a  benediction,  her 
dress  came  in  contact  with  the  flames !  In  an  instant  the 
silken  fabric  was  blazing  with  a  velocity  that  threatened 
destruction  to  the  beautiful  form  it  enveloped.  All  was 
terror  and  consternation  !  Shrieks  and  cries  of  alarm  rose 
from  lip  to  lip,  while  one  cried,  "  Bring  a  blanket !  "  another, 
"  Where's  the  water?  "  a  dozen,  "  What's  the  matter?  "  A 
stentorian  voice  exclaimed,  "  Stand  back  !  "  and  a  powerful 
arm  was  thrown  around  her,  and  in  a  moment  Mark's  strong 
hand  had  torn  the  burning  garment  from  the  terrified  girl, 
and  his  foot  sent  it  into  the  fireplace,  where  it  was  harm- 
lessly consumed.  All  this  occurred  in  a  moment's  time,  and 
no  great  damage  done  to  anybody,  or  anything,  except  the 
dress,  the  waist  of  which  still  clung  to  the  trembling  girl. 
Faint  she  did  not  (she  did  not  belong  to  the  fainting  sister- 
hood), but  she  looked  pale  when  she  realized  how  narrowly 
she  had  escaped. 

"  No,  I  am  not  burned  ! "  she  said,  as  soon  as  she  "could 
command  her  voice ;  "  not  even  scorched  !  Many  thanks 
to  — "  And  what  her  lips,  through  fear  and  excitement, 
failed  to  utter,  her  eyes,  beaming  with  tenderness  and  grati- 
tude, fully  expressed. 

"  I  beseech  you,  do  not  be  alarmed  ;  there  is  no  occasion 
for  alarm.  I  am  only  a  little  nervous;  not  in  the  least 


LIVING   FOR   THOSE   WE   LOVE.  79 

injured,"  said  she,  as  Mrs.  Sloper,  quite  agitated,  surveyed 
the  scorched  waist,  and  removed  the  remnants  of  lace  from 
about  the  neck  and  sleeves.  "  You  will  allow  me  to  return 
home,  I  trust." 

Mrs.  Sloper  reflected  for  a  moment,  and  being  very 
desirous  that  her  young  guests  should  not  lose  the  pleasure 
which  the  presence  of  the  charming  stranger  would  afford 
them,  said, — 

"  I  have  an  idea.     Come  with  me." 

They  ascended  the  long,  front  stairs  that  led  to  the  "  spare- 
room,"  from  which  opened  several  closets  of  large  dimensions. 
In  one  of  these  hung,  in  orderly  array,  Mrs.  Sloper's  ;;  best 
things,"  and  from  "  stuffs  "  of  various  kinds  and  colours  she 
selected  a  shining  black  satin,  saying,  as  she  held  it  up  for 
Grace's  inspection,  — 

"  Now,  we  cannot  very  well  spare  you  from  our  pleasant 
little  gathering  to-night.  All,  I  am  sure,  would  be  disap- 
pointed should  you  go  away.  So  you  just  get  into  this  dress 
of  mine,  and  make  us  all  happy  by  remaining.  My  dear 
child,  I  am  so  thankful  you  were  not  burned !  "  As  she 
spoke  the  tears  gathered  in  her  benevolent  eyes,  which  made 
Grace's  well  over  with  gratitude. 

"  May  be  it  won't  exactly  fit  about  the  waist,  but  in  length 
it  will  "be  just  right.  So  please  hurry,  and  I'll  hook  it  for 
you.  Come  into  the  next  room,  my  dear;  there  is  a  good 
fire  for  you  to  dress  by,  and  I'll  hunt  up  something  for  you 
to  wear  round  your  neck.  Here's  a  white  Vandyke ;  but 
may  be  you  will  think  that  too  old  fashioned.  Let  me 
sec,"  —  opening  a  great  chest  of  drawers,  and  displaying 
their  various  contents  to  the  gaze  of  her  bewildered  auditor. 

"  Here's  a  nice  dress  handkerchief,  that  will,  perhaps,  be 
more  becoming;  or  this  white  muslin  under-kerchief ;  you 
can  fold  it  in,  and  lay  the  pleats  just  so." 

All  this  time  the  "  dear  child  "  stood  surveying  the  articles 
laid  out  for  her  inspection.  The  tears  were  dried,  and  an 


80  SELF-MADE,   OR 

"  idea"  seemed  to  have  taken  sudden  possession  of  her  mind, 
for  a  merry  twinkle  was  in  her  beautiful  eyes,  and  she  could 
scarcely  refrain  from  laughing  outright. 

"Mrs.  Sloper,  will  you  indulge  me  in  a  little  pleasantry? 
I  see  the  satin  is  quite  too  large  for  me  ;  allow  me  to  make 
my  own  selections.  Now,  you  assist  me,  and  I  will  dress 
myself  as  a  gypsy.  Then  I  will  go  around  to  the  front  door 
and  knock  for  admittance.  You  can  let  me  in,  and  introduce 
me  as  '  Mother  Cheatem,'  and  I'll  tell  their  fortunes." 

"  Capital !  capital !  I  know  just  what  you  want !  Ah  !  I 
thought  there  was  fun  in  those  snapping  black  eyes  of 
yours ! "  And  so  the  shining  satin,  not  destined  to  be 
honored  on  this  occasion,  was  hung  back  in  its  accustomed 
place  ;  and  from  the  bottom  of  an  ancient  chest  of  drawers, 
that  helped  to  lumber  up  the  rear  attic,  sundry  articles  were 
brought  to  light  that  for  years  had  lain  hidden  in  its  mysteri- 
ous depths.  Grace  helped  to  convey  the  ancient  habili- 
ments to  the  dressing-room  ;  while,  as  she  arrayed  herself  in 
them,  she  often  indulged  in  suppressed  laughter.  Mrs.  Sloper, 
who  loved  a  good  joke,  and  was  always  ready  to  help  carry 
it  out,  chimed  in  with  her  low,  musical  voice.  The  gypsy's 
dress  consisted  of  a  yellow-silk  petticoat,  quilted  in  fine 
diamond-shape  to  the  knees ;  over  that  was  a  white  dimity 
short-gown  reaching  midway,  with  a  fine  cambric  ruffle  at 
the  bottom,  wide  and  full,  starched  and  crimped,  and  the 
cuffs  edged  with  lace.  Over  this  was  worn  a  kind  of  bodice 
of  dark  figured  silk,  with  wide  shoulder-straps  laced  behind 
and  before,  very  much  like  the  stays  ladies  wear  nowadays 
(but  stays  were  not  in  use  then,  and  ought  not  to  be  now)  ; 
a  pair  of  high-heeled,  narrow,  round-toed  shoes,  with  great 
silver  buckles,  encased  her  feet,  and  a  couple  of  plain  gold 
rings,  with  seals  as  large  as  a  shilling,  adorned  her  hands. 

"  Now  a  cap,  if  you  please." 

"  Yes,  you  must  have  a  cap !  Tuck  your  hair  nicely 
under  the  broad  frill,  while  I  lay  this  black  ribbon  over  it. 


LIVING   FOR   THOSE   WE  LOVE.  8l 

There,  that  will  do ;  you  look  charming !  Don't  laugh  so 
loud,  or  they  will  hear  us !  .  Wait  a  while,  and  I  will  go 
down  for  the  deacon's  Sunday  specs  !  " 

"  But  I  must  have  a  bonnet." 

"  Yes,  yes  ;  I'll  bring  a  bonnet,  and  cloak,  too."  Saying 
this,  Mrs.  Sloper  hurried  below  stairs  to  obtain  the  "  specs," 
and  gave  satisfactory  answers  to  many  inquiries  relative  to 
the  young  lady's  welfare  and  reappearance.  On  her  return 
she  again  visited  the  attic,  and  brought  forth,  nicely  folded, 
a  scarlet  cloth  mantle,  with  a  great  hood  at  the  back.  As 
she  placed  it  on  Grace's  shoulders,  she  said,  — 

"  This  cloak,  my  dear,  is  older  than  I  am  !  It  was  my 
grandmother's,  and  in  its  time  was  a  beauty,  and  the  pride 
of  the  family.  So  I  have  heard  my  mother  say.  It  was 
bought  new  to  wear  to  the  christening  of  their  first  child, 
who  was  my  mother's  eldest  brother.  It  is  a  little  moth- 
eaten  on  one  side.  That  was  done  in  my  mother's  time ; 
but  as  I  have  always  kept  cedar  shavings  in  between  the 
folds,  they  never  molest  it  now.  Always  remember  this, 
dear,  that  cedar  shavings  are  the  best  things  to  preserve 
woollen  goods  from  moths.  Camphor  is  good  likewise,  and 
a  little  of  both  in  the  same  chest  will  do  no  harm.  Now  for 
a  bonnet.  Let  me  see.  There's  my  old,  sugar-loaf  leghorn  ; 
but  then  it  has  no  trimming  on  it.  But  I've  plenty  of  odds 
and  ends,  and  we  will  pin  this  yellow  bow  on  one  side,  and 
wind  this  bit  of  green  ribbon  round  the  crown,  and  take  these 
strips  of  chintz  for  the  strings."  They  both  laughed  heartily 
at  their  ingenuity,  and  at  the  young  lady's  grotesque  appear- 
ance. A  work-bag  of  large  dimensions,  a  snuff-box,  and 
some  knitting-work  were  speedily  furnished  ;  and,  after  ad- 
miring herself  in  the  mirror  to  the  entire  satisfaction  of  both, 
Mrs.  Sloper  led  the  way  through  an  unoccupied  part  of  the 
house  until  they  came  to  a  narrow,  back  stairway  that  led  to 
the  rooms  below.  She  descended  first  to  see  that  the  coast 
was  clear ;  and  as  it  happened,  no  one  saw  the  gypsy  (she 
6 


82  SELF-MADE,   OR 

looked  more  like  the  witch  of  Endor)  pass  out.  Mrs. 
Sloper  gave  her  some  instructions  in  a  low  whisper,  and 
before  she  joined  the  company  in  the  parlor  a  loud  knock 
was  heard  at  the  front  door  —  so  loud  that  it  reverberated 
through  the  whole  house,  silenced  every  voice,  and  set  each 
heart  in  motion,  every  one  thinking  something  terrible  was 
about  to  happen.  The  deacon  strode  hastily  forward  to  see 
what  the  matter  was,  while  the  rest  put  as  wide  a  space  as 
possible  between  the  door  and  themselves.  The  little  old 
woman  entered  with  tottering  steps,  leaning  heavily  upon 
her  staff,  while  Mrs.  Sloper,  with  feigned  surprise,  hastened 
forward  to  give  her  welcome. 

"Good  evening!" 

"  Good  evening  !     Why,  its  Mother  Cheatem  !  " 

"  It's  a'  awful  cold  night,  Miss  Sloper,"  said  the  little 
old  fright,  in  a  well-affected  nasal  twang,  that  would  have 
defied  her  most  intimate  friend  to  recognize  as  belonging 
to  her. 

"  I've  come  a  long  way  to  see  ye,  but  I  didn't  'spect  yer 
had  so  much  grand  comp'ny,  or  I  shouldn't  a'  dared  to  come 
in ;  leastwise  I  shouldn't  a'  thot  o'  comin'  without  a'  invita- 
tion." 

Mrs.  Sloper  had  given  her  husband  a  pinch  on  the  arm, 
and  she  placed  her  finger  on  her  lips,  as  much  as  to  say, 
"  Keep  dark,  and  help  us  on  writh  the  joke."  So  the  deacon, 
in  his  blandest  manner,  bade  the  old  dame  welcome,  saying, 
as  he  wheeled  the  great  arm-chair  near  the  fire  for  her  ac- 
ceptance, — 

"  You  could  not  have  come  on  a  more  auspicious  occasion, 
for  you  have  a  whole  house  full  to  welcome  you." 

The  old  lady,  in  the  same  affected  tone,  said  it  did  look  a 
little  s'piciotts!  Was  it  a  weddin?  or  what?  And  wondered 
where  they  would  put  her  to  sleep,  as  she  was  quite  sure 
every  bed  in  the  house  would  be  full,  if  they  "  kept  over  "  all 
that  were  present.  In  turn  ,she  was  kindly  requested  to  give 


LIVING  FOR   THOSE  WE   LOVE.  83 

herself  no  uneasiness  on  that  score,  and  assured  that  the  best 
room  in  the  house,  and  a  bed  all  to  herself,  were  at  her 
disposal. 

"  I  wouldn't  mind  jinin'  with  some  one,  but  yer  see,  it 
alers  gives  me  the  nightmare  to  sleep  double,  and  since  poor 
Cheatem  died,  —  the  dear  soul ;  how  I  deprecate  his  mem- 
ory !  —  I've  never  jined  with  anybody.  I've  eat  alone,  slept 
alone,  talked  and  walked,  sung  and  laughed,  and  cried  all 
alone  ;  and  alers  expect  ter."  And  here  the  old  lady  brought 
out  a  flaming  red  cotton  handkerchief  to  wipe  away  the 
drops  of  well-affected  sorrow,  which  were  coursing  down 
her  cheeks. 

Mark  had  walked  off  to  conceal  his  merriment,  for  he 
understood  it  all  at  a  glance ;  and  the  rest  were  wondering 
much  where  she  came  from,  and  who  she  could  be,  having 
never  heard  —  much  to  their  surprise  —  of  a  character  so 
replete  with  oddity,  and  so  familiar  as  she  appeared  to  be 
with  the  deacon  and  his  wife. 

"  Let  me  take  your  cloak  and  bonnet,"  said  Mrs.  Sloper, 
bending  herself  to  the  task  of  untying  the  gaudy  calico 
strings,  at  the  same  time  bidding  Miss  Helen  to  assist  her  in 
removing  the  cloak.  The  young  lady  shrunk  back,  horrified 
at  the  thought  of  coming  in  contact  with  such  an  ugly  old 
fright. 

"  She  must  be  crazy  !  "  whispered  she  to  Sam.  "  I  should 
not  wonder  if  it  was  that  old  crazy  woman  we  have  heard 
of  up  at  Mallowfield.  I  thought  her  eyes  looked  rather 
wild." 

Her  outer  garments  being  removed,  and  Mrs.  Sloper  as- 
sured that  she  was  thoroughly  warmed,  she  was  assisted 
1,0  rise  by  that  benevolent  lady,  and  her  chair  turned  around 
so  as  to  make  her  face  visible  to  the  company.  She  was 
introduced  formally  as  Grandmother  Cheatem,  and  made  a 
very  low  courtesy  ere  she  resumed  her  chair.  From  her 
ample  pocket,  which  hung  on  her  arm,  she  drew  forth  her 


84  SELF-MADE,   OR 

f 

snufi-box,  and  took  a  large  pinch  :  then  elevating  her  eyes, 
she  ventured  to  survey  the  inmates  of  the  room. 

Helen  ran  up  to  the  dressing-room  to  acquaint  Grace  with 
the  strange  and  unlooked-for  acquisition  to  the  company 
below  stairs,  and  was  much  surprised  to  find  the  room  unoc- 
cupied. After  a  fruitless  search  in  all  the  adjoining  rooms, 
she  was  descending  to  inquire  after  her,  when  her  ears  were 
greeted  with  shouts  of  laughter,  as  if  the  veritable  spirit  of 
Momus  had  taken  each  heart  by  storm  !  Peal  after  peal 
arose  above  the  incessant  chattering  of  the  old  crone,  who 
declared  herself  ill  used  by  those  who  were  "  big  enough," 
she  said,  "  to  treat  old  age  and  deformity  (she  limped  dread- 
fully when  attempting  to  walk)  with  greater  respect." 

Helen  soon  saw  how  matters  stood,  declaring  she  "  knew 
it  all  the  time,"  elevating  her  little  pug  nose  by  way  of 
emphasis. 

"  Have  done,  I  say !  Will  ye's  be  after  putting  an  old 
woman's  eyes  out?"  exclaimed  the  old  lady,  changing  her 
voice  from  a  coarse  guttural  to  a  rich  Irish  brogue.  "  Ye'r" 
an  unmannerly  dog !  Get  ye  from  forninst  me,  ye  spal- 
peen, or  I'll  be  afther  persuading  ye  with  this  sprig  o'  shil- 
laly  ! " 

The  person  addressed  was  none  other  than  the  veritable 
Samuel  Maynard,  Esquire,  who  had  attempted  to  snatch  her 
spectacles,  but  came  off  minus  a  handful  of  hair,  which 
clung  tenaciously  to  the  taper  fingers  of  the  insulted  dame. 
Another  tried  to  possess  himself  of  her  cane ;  but  the  pos- 
sessor, asserting  rights  of  property,  declined  surrendering 
it,  declaring  it  was  "agin  Scripter"  to  covet  a  neighbour's 
goods  ;  and  though  one  seized  her  cap,  another  begged  a 
bow  therefrom,  and  a  third  put  her  wig  terribly  out  of 
crimp,  she  succeeded  in  maintaining  her  rights,  until  she 
had  convinced  all  who  attempted  to  trespass  on  those  rights 
that  it  was  no  child's  play  with  her. 

"Do  let  me  hold  your  cane," 


LIVING  FOR   THOSE   WE   LOVE.  85 

A  punch  in  the  ribs  forbade  further  familiarity. 

"  Give  us  a  pinch  of  snuff." 

She  helps  herself,  and  replaces  the  box  in  the  reticule, 
saying,  — 

"  It's  not  for  youngsters  to  indulge  in  such  delicacies ; 
only  poor  old  addle-brains  like  meself  should  take  snuff." 

"  Well  —  tell  us  a  story." 

"  Yes,  a  story  !  a  story  !  " 

"  No  ;  I  am  no  story-teller  ;  but  if  it  pleases  you,  I'll  be  a 
gypsy,  and  tell  your  fortunes." 

"  Good,  good  ! "  "  Better  yet."  "  Here  !  let  me  tie  this 
bandage  over  your  eyes ;  fair  play ;  no  cheating,  Mother 
Cheatem.  There  now." 

"  Lead  them  up,  one  at  a  time." 

And  so  the  palms  of  each  were  successively  laid  in  those 
of  the  prophesying  gypsy,  who  foresaw  their  good  or  ill,  as 
her  fancy  dictated.  Some  she  sent  on  exploring  expeditions 
after  the  philosopher's  stone,  telling  them  they  would  never 
be  satisfied  until  they  had  found  it.  Some  possessed  ex- 
traordinary musical  talents  in  embryo ;  others,  wonderful 
mechanical  genius,  waiting  only  for  some  unforeseen  acci- 
dent to  develop  itself.  Some  she  dubbed  knight-errants,  the 
honor  of  whose  chivalrous  deeds  would  shed  lustre  upon 
their  descendants  until  the  latest  generation.  Some  were 
placed  upon  the  pinnacle  of  the  temple  of  fame  ;  others 
suffer  martyrdom  at  the  hands  of  some  heartless  coquette. 
One  will  pay  homage  at  the  shrine  of  beauty  until  he  finds 
himself  approaching  old  bachelorhood,  and  then  he  will 
marry  a  perfect  Xantippe.  Another  is  told  that  if  he  will 
never  use  tobacco,  his  wife  will  be  beautiful  and  sweet- 
tempered  ;  and  though  the  chimney  might  smoke,  and  the 
children  be  cross,  and  he  be  in  the  sulks,  yet  she  would  be 
Calm  and  good-natured,  and  even  smile  over  his  delin- 
quencies. This  one  was  clothed  in  a  coat  of  mail,  impervious 
to  anything  ignoble.  That  one  might  one  day  govern  the 


86  SELF-MADE,   OR 

nation;  but  he  must  first  learn  to  govern  himself.  There 
\vas  some  great  good  for  each  to  attain,  some  moral  excel- 
lence for  each  to  strive  for. 

As  for  the  young  ladies,  there  was  not  for  them  such  an 
extended  sphere  of  usefulness.  They  need  never  expect  to 
do  any  one  great  act  that  would  immortalize  them.  They 
need  not  wish  to  become  heroines.  It  was  a  woman's  glory 
to  walk  in  a  separate  sphere  from  man's.  Though  humble, 
it  rested  with  herself  to  make  it  happy  and  useful.  "Wo- 
man's life,"  said  the  gypsy,  "  is  made  up  of  small  every-day 
experiences,  and  every  little  kind  act,  every  generous  and 
noble  impulse,  tells  largely  for  her  future  well-being.  It  is 
hers  to  bestow  charities,  to  visit  the  sick,  to  comfort  with 
kind  words  and  deeds  the  aged  and  infirm  ;  to  give  to 
infancy  its  first  great  thought,  to  guide  its  first  pure  prayer, 
and  shape  its  little  heart  like  unto  her  own.  She  need  not  go 
out  into  the  world's  great  arena  to  seek  for  fame  and  power. 
It  was  hers  to  excel  in  all  those  gentler  qualities  which 
make  her  life  of  more  importance  than  man's.  To  her 
belong  truth,  humility,  tenderness,  fidelity,  and  a  forgiving 
spirit ;  and  love,  holy  and  fervent,  lends  its  rosy  hue  to 
brighten  her  existence.  She  need  not  sigh  that  her  sphere 
is  circumscribed,  if  she  have  but  her  own  heart  to  care  for ; 
and  '  though  to  itself  it  only  live  and  die,'  she  will  find  a 
lifetime  well  spent  in  fitting  it  for  higher  spheres  than  this. 

"  But  you,  my  dear  child,"  she  continued,  taking  another 
by  the  hand,  "  have  a  large  field  of  usefulness  to  labor  in. 
The  sunny  dreams  of  girlhood  are  fast  passing  away  ;  you 
will,  if  you  live,  soon  be  a  woman.  You  wish  in  your  heart 
it  were  now.  You  think  you  will  be  happier  then  ;  but 
believe  me,  you  are  now  seeing  your  best  and  happiest  days. 
Remember  what  the  old  gypsy  in  the  red  cloak  tells  you ; 
this  very  night  will  be  like  a  little  green  Eden  in  your  life. 
Though  your  feet  may  press  the  turf  of  other  lands,  and 
your  ear  listen  to  the  sweet  cadence  of  strange  voices,  yet 


LIVING   FOR   THOSE   WE   LOVE.  8/ 

amid  all  the  beauty,  and  splendor,  and  luxury  that  may 
or  can  surround  you,  your  heai't  will  murmur,  'In  life's 
sweet  spring  time  were  my  happiest  days.'  You  will  be- 
come a  great  and  good  woman  —  great  because  you  are  good. 
You  must  henceforth  cultivate  all  those  Christian  graces 
which  will  fit  you  for  a  life  of  usefulness.  Your  destiny  is 
a  serious  one.  Set  yourself  steadily  to  work  to  learn  some 
new  thing  every  day  that  will  help  to  perfect  your  character 
as  a  woman  and  as  a  Christian.  You  have  much  to  learn 
of  yourself,  of  your  motives  for  generous  action.  Let  not 
pride,  or  a  wish  to  become  famous  for  goodness  and  benevo- 
lence, have  aught  to  do  with  your  charities  or  kindnesses. 
Charity,  in  its  true  sense,  is  not  lavish  alms-giving,  but  a 
heai'tfelt  sympathy  for  those  who  are  in  affliction ;  and  more 
than  all,  a  disposition  to  put  the  best  construction  upon  the 
conduct  of  others,  and  a  thousand  little  nameless  acts  of 
kindness  so  cheap  to  ourselves,  but  so  precious  to  those  upon 
whom  they  are  bestowed.  As  silently  you  receive  grace 
and  strength  from  the  Almighty  to  perform  your  duty,  so 
ought  you  silently  to  dispense  to  others ;  '  and  the  Father 
who  seeth  in  secret  shall  reward  you  openly.'" 

Mark  offered  no  resistance  when  his  turn  came.  He  was 
led  up  to  the  fortune-teller  who  had  so  successfully  divined 
the  future  destiny  of  his  compeers.  A  something  told  him 
she  would  know  his  hard,  brawny  hand  from  the  rest ;  and 
so  it  was.  After  a  moment's  hesitation,  as  if  to  collect  ma- 
terial wherewith  to  pave  another  pathway  to  the  goal  of 
fame,  she  said,  "  This  hand  will  work  out  for  you  a  noble 
future  ;  for  it  will  labor  for  others'  happiness  more  than  your 
own.  You  have  an  ambition  to  emulate  the  great  and  good. 
It  is  a  laudable  ambition  ;  and,  unless  the  gypsy's  vision  is 
obscured,  you  have  a  goodly  amount  of  stock  in  bank,  which 
will  win  you  success.  Industry,  honesty,  integrity  are  a  good 
capital  to  start  out  with,  and  their  profits  will  accumulate  on 
your  hands.  But  you  have  other  qualifications  which  will 


88  SELF-MADE,  OR 

materially  assist  you  in  your  not  altogether  newly-formed 
desires.  You  do  not  act  from  impulse ;  you  have  the  power 
to  consider  before  you  act,  and  this  is  what  we  are  not  all 
blessed  with.  You  have  firmness,  with  a  will  to  do  ;  but 
your  pursuits  in  life  will  give  you  many  an  occasion  to  meas- 
ure your  'will  with  your  powers  to  accomplish.  Be  not 
discouraged  should  Fortune  frown  darkly  on  your  early  ef- 
forts ;  heroic  spirits  will  one  day  win  her  smiles  and  don 
her  favours.  If you  wear  her  livery,  it  will  be  nobly  earned — 
not  purchased  'with  the  stain  of  dishonesty  upon  it.  If  you 
would  sit  in  the  councils  of  the  wise,  remember  Wisdom, 
unlike  Fortune,  never  seeks  her  votaries. 

'  The  clouds  may  drop  down  titles  and  estates, 
Wealth  may  seek  us,  but  wisdom  must  be  sought ; 
Sought  before  all,  but  (how  unlike  all  else 
We  seek  on  earth !)  'tis  never  sought  in  vain.' 

"  The  intent,  however  dearly  nursed,  will  never  gain  you 
preferment.  Action  and  energy,  well  directed,  steady,  and 
persevering,  are  the  two  great  propelling  principles  which  will 
bring  you  success.  Sloth  finds  too  many  lions  in  the  way, 
and  shrinks  at  what  its  own  inaction  makes  impossibilities. 
Your  path  is  onward  and  upward ;  but,  like  poor  Pilgrim, 
you  will  find  yourself  often  fainting  under  your  burden,  as 
you  ascend  the  long,  steep  '  hill  Difficulty ; '  and,  like  him, 
you  will  persevere,  until  the  day  dawns  that  sees  you  knock- 
ing at  the  'wicket'  for  admission  into  an  extended  field  of 
usefulness  and  honour." 

To  Nettie  she  said,  "  The  possessor  of  this  little  hand  has 
a  warm,  affectionate  heart.  She  is  kind,  and  gentle  too, 
and  will  always  be  good,  and  do  good,  because  she  wishes 
to  do  what  is  right.  She  has  little  selfishness  in  her  nature, 
and  her  faults  will  be  easy  to  correct.  She  knows  that  to  be 
strong  to  do  the  right,  she  must  ask  of  God  daily  for  those 
helps  which  the  best  of  us  need  to  keep  us  from  doing  what 
is  amiss. 


LIVING  FOR  THOSE   WE  LOVE.  89 

"  His  blessing  will  always  attend  your  every  effort  to  be 
patient  and  persevering  in  the  path  of  duty.  You  will  find 
many  things  that  will  teach  you  the  necessity  of  cultivating 
a  patient  spirit,  a  gentle  voice,  and  a  cheerful  manner.  These 
will  be  everything  to  yourself,  and  much  to  others.  Though 
to  do  good  may  often  involve  a  sacrifice  of  our  own  personal 
ease  and  comfort,  yet  will  our  sleep  be  sweetest,  our  dreams 
rosiest,  when  our  heads  repose  on  pillows  made  welcome  by 
sharing  the  burdens  of  others.  '  Be  not  weary  in  well-doing. 
Ye  shall  reap  if  ye  faint  not.' " 


SELF-MADE,    OR 


CHAPTER    X. 
NETTIE'S    ASPIRATIONS. 

"  White-winged  angels  meet  the  child 
On  the  vestibule  of  life." 

MRS.  E.  OAKES  SMITH. 

|  S  may  be  supposed,  the  kind,  make-believe  fortune- 
teller spoke  at  random,  having  had  little  opportu- 
nity to  study  the  characters  or  dispositions  of  her 
young  friends.  A  word  dropped  here  and  there, 
together  with  the  expression  of  Mark's  countenance  and  his 
general  appearance,  which  prepossessed  her  altogether  in  his 
favor,  enabled  her  to  judge  somewhat  of  the  bent  of  his  in- 
clinations. That  he  possessed  strong  perceptive  faculties, 
with  a  mind  to  grasp  knowledge,  and  a  will  to  succeed  in 
whatever  he  set  about  to  do,  his  fine,  manly,  open  counte- 
nance would  have  given  abundant  proof  to  one  less  skilled 
in  the  art  of  testing  the  qualities  of  mind  by  outward  ap- 
pearances. She  had  little  thought  or  care  about  jeopard- 
izing her  reputation  as  a  prophetess ;  she  wished  only  to 
contribute  to  the  general  amusement  of  the  little  circle 
around  her ;  and  she  succeeded  admirably,  interspersing  her 
graver  counsels  with  many  little  pleasantries,  which  pro- 
voked frequent  peals  of  merriment. 

None  of  the  virtues  were  overlooked  by  the  dear  old 
gypsy.  All  were  told  to  emulate  the  good,  the  great,  the 
godlike.  And  if  she  aroused  dormant  energies  in  some 
youthful  heart,  which,  until  then,  dreamed  not  of  its  own 


LIVING   FOR   THOSE   WE   LOVE.  QI 

inherent  powers,  it  was  because  it  caught  her  inspiration, 
while  with  glowing  enthusiasm  she  contrasted  the  pleasures 
of  virtue  and  Christian  piety  with  the  miseries  of  ignorance, 
vice,  and  sin. 

One  there  was  who  felt  within  him  a  spirit  to  do  and  dare 
anything,  that  her  words  might  be  fulfilled. 

Nettie's  master-thought  was,  as  she  gazed  admiringly  upon 
her  dear  stranger  friend,  "  O,  how  much  I  would  like  to 
become  what  you  are !  When  I  am  a  woman,  I  will  be  a 
good  woman.  She  has  told  us  that  to  become  wise  and 
good  men  and  women,  we  must  begin  early ;  and  I  am  sure 
I  shall  from  this  time  be  gentle."  And  then  her  heart  sank, 
for  she  remembered  how  her  ears  were  daily  assailed  with 
harsh  epithets,  and  that  she  was  "  the  worst  child  that  ever 
lived."  She  had  heard  this  repeated  too  often  to  have  the 
least  doubt  of  it.  Ah,  could  she  but  hope  for  the  attainment 
of  but  half  the  virtues  with  which  her  friend  had  endowed 
her,  how  arduously,  how  perseveringly,  would  she  labour  in 
her  little  home-sphere !  Beyond  that  sphere  she  felt  hum- 
bled to  think  she  might  never  be  permitted  to  go.  She  knew 
her  own  littleness,  or  thought  she  did,  as  compared  with 
others,  who  had  different  homes  and  different  influences  to 
mould  their  characters.  She  brushed  away  the  tears  which 
gathered  under  the  long  lashes  and  swept  her  cheeks,  and 
with  those  last  words  of  the  noble  lady,  who  was  to  be 
thenceforth  her  oracle,  —  "  in  due  season,  if  ye  faint  not,"  — 
there  came,  laden  with  a  host  of  soothing  influences,  a  sweet 
and  holy  faith,  which  shed  its  serene  and  rosy  light  over  her 
struggling  and  unquiet  spirit.  She  knew  it  not  by  its  true 
name,  but  she  felt  within  her  heart  a  presence  of  something 
good  and  great,  strong  and  courageous.  A  kind  angel  was 
thenceforth  to  walk  forever  by  her  side,  the  glory  of  whose 
countenance  reflected  brightness,  and  dispelled  the  shade  of 
gloom  that  rested  upon  her  own.  She  folded  her  white 
wing  about  her,  and  whispered  softly  in  her  ear  of  brighter 


93  SELF-MADE,   OR 

days  to  come.  "  Fear  not,"  said  the  voice  within  ;  "  I  am 
with  you  ;  my  rod  and  my  staff  they  comfort  you  ;  "  and 
like  the  "  pilgrim  to  the  Holy  Shrine,  who  sees  Oriental  skies 
from  amid  alpine  snows,  and  plants  his  staff  with  a  firmer 
hold  upon  the  icy  verge  of  the  precipice,"  so  she  took  God 
at  His  word,  and  bade  despair  flee  her  presence. 

While  Nettie  sat  apart  thus  musing,  the  rest  were  by  no 
means  idle :  a  spirited  conversation  was  kept  up ;  and  sud- 
denly, above  the  din  of  happy  voices,  rose  a  bewitching 
strain,  that  set  everybody's  spirits  a-tiptoe  ;  and  the  possessor 
of  each  fluttering  heart  was  made  happier  still  when  Mr. 
Sloper  said, — 

"  Children,  I  want  to  see  you  dance  a  few  times ;  and,  as 
one  of  the  young  gentlemen  has  volunteered  his  services  as 
musician,  you  may  now,  as  many  as  can,  take  possession  of 
the  west  room,  and  form  yourselves  into  a  set." 

This  was  instantly  responded  to  by  an  unusual  commo- 
tion and  a  rush  for  partners ;  and  ere  ten  minutes  elapsed, 
thirty  or  forty  of  the  older  ones  had  arranged  themselves  for 
a  country  dance.  The  walls  of  the  capacious  rooms  were 
lined  with  those  who  did  not  participate,  but  who  seemed  to 
enjoy  it  as  much  as  the  rest,  hoping  their  turn  would  come 
next.  And  come  it  did  to  all  who  were  disposed  to  indulge 
in  the  pleasant  amusement. 

Mark  stood  as  remote  as  possible  from  the  dancers,  envy- 
ing those  who  excelled  in  easy  grace,  and  despising  one  who 
was  the  cause  of  his  embarrassment.  This  one  took  upon 
himself  the  office  of  "  master  of  ceremonies,"  and  insisted, 
with  mock  politeness,  that  Mark  should  dance  with  the  lady 
whose  graceful  form  seemed  like  some  powerful  magnetizer. 
His  eyes  involuntarily  followed  her  wherever  she  flitted 
through  the  mystic  windings  of  the  "opera  reel,"  or  the 
more  intricate  mazes  of  "  money  musk."  But  he  declined 
the  honor  with  a  freezing  air,  though  it  cost  him  an  effort 
to  refuse  the  pleasure. 


LIVING   FOR    THOSE   WE   LOVE. 


93 


CHAPTER    XI. 
GRACE  PEARSON  AND  MARK  HAVE  A  QUIET  CHAT. 

"  Dire  was  the  clang  of  plates,  of  knife  and  fork, 
That  merc'less  fell  like  tomahawks  to  work." 

WOLCOT. 

[jUPPER  was  now  announced,  and  the  delicacies, 
under  which  the  long  table,  spread  in  the  ample 
basement  kitchen,  groaned,  melted  away  like  frost 
on  a  May  morning.  The  turkeys  and  chickens 
were  done  to  a  nicety,  and  the  ingredients  which  helped 
furnish  the  other  goodies  might  have  come  from  the  four 
quarters  of  the  globe,  to  mingle  on  this  proud  occasion. 
There  were  nice  fresh  rolls,  which  looked  like  patted  snow- 
balls, so  soft  and  white  were  they,  and  the  warm  mashed 
potatoes,  pyramid-shaped,  and  dotted  with  pepper,  looked 
very  like  a  volcano  in  miniature,  while  the  melted  butter, 
as  it  rolled  down  its  side,  represented  the  lava.  Then  there 
were  mince  pies  and  apple  pies,  tarts  and  salads,  which  no 
one  knew  how  to  make  better  than  that  notable  housewife, 
Mrs.  Sloper.  Cakes,  whose  frosted  crust  glistened  so  purely 
white  it  seemed  a  pity  to  mar  their  beauty ;  and  jellies  so 
varied  in  color  and  transparent  in  substance,  that,  as  the 
light  shone  through  their  cone-shaped  forms,  they  fairly 
quivered  under  the  gaze  of  so  many  bright,  admiring  eyes. 

Miss  Pearson  was  led  down  by  the  veteran  host  himself, 
and  placed  on  his  right,  while  he  took  the  head  of  the  table, 
behind  one  of  the  huge  turkeys.  Mr.  Maynard  resigned  his 


94  SELF-MADE,    OR 

post  at  her  side,  very  much  as  a  boy  would  resign  a  large 
piece  of  gingerbread,  which  a  hoarded  sixpence  had  bought. 
The  deacon  saw  by  the  disappointed  look  that  followed 
hard  after  the  retreating  fair  one,  that  he  had  committed  an 
egregious  blunder ;  but  he  had  the  prize  so  safely  under  his 
escort,  and  she  clung  so  lovingly  to  his  arm,  that  he  was  in 
no  wise  inclined  to  surrender  her,  now  he  was  fairly  under 
way.  And  so  he  thought  to  purchase  indemnity  for  his 
fault  by  begging  this  young  gentleman  to  assist  in  doing  the 
honours  at  the  other  end  of  the  table.  Sam's  first  thought 
was  one  of  pride,  that  his  host  had  given  him  this  preference 
above  the  others,  and  he  accepted  the  post  of  honour  with 
much  graciousness.  But  by  the  time  he  had  helped  his 
half  of  the  company  to  turkey  and  chicken-pie  and  other 
et  ceteras,  he  found  to  his  cost  that  serving  others  was  not 
eating  himself.  One  would  thank  him  for  "  another  slice  of 
the  breast,"  another,  "  a  little  more  stuffing,  if  you  please," 
a  third,  some  of  "  the  nice  cranberry,"  and  so  on,  until  he 
came  to  the  very  unpleasant  conclusion  that  he  was  work- 
ing for  his  dinner. 

The  look  of  resignation  that  stole  over  his  face,  after  the 
twentieth  attempt  to  taste  a  mouthful,  would  have  done 
honour  to  a  king  when  he  saw  his  throne  in  the  possession 
of  an  adversary  too  powerful  to  cope  with.  He  wiped  the 
perspiration  from  his  brow,  as  he  again  bent  himself  to  the 
task  of  carving  .and  serving,  fully  resolved  that  he  wouldn't 
eat  a  mouthful  that  night.  He  would  let  them  see  what  a 
martyr  he  was  making  of  himself.  Thus  he  sat,  carver  in 
hand,  surveying  with  assumed  coolness  his  voracious  cus- 
tomers, as  much  as  to  say,  "Now  do  your  worst;  I'm  a 
match  for  you ! "  and  they,  perfectly  unconcerned,  to  all 
appearances,  as  to  whether  he  ate  or  not.  That  the  "  Fates  " 
were  against  him  this  night  he  fully  believed.  There  was 
his  "  bright  particular  star,"  who,  having  dofled  the  bizarre 
habiliments  of  the  gypsy,  shone  resplendent  in  her  original 


LIVING   FOR    THOSE   WE    LOVE. 


95 


character,  and  others  basking  in  its  radiance.  Why  couldn't 
she  see  that  he  was  miserable?  And  Helen,  too,  was  gor- 
mandizing, as  if  she  feared  there  would  be  even  a  drumstick 
left  for  him  to  nibble  at.  And  Mark  —  did  his  eyes  deceive 
him?  —  was  actually  seated  next  to  Grace,  and  presuming  to 
indulge  in  a  mirth-provoking  repartee,  with  that  feminine 
divinity.  How  happy  they  all  were !  All  but  he !  He 
could,  perhaps,  have  borne  it  all  on  a  full  stomach  ;  but  to  be 
victimized  thus  when  combating  with  these  internal  ele- 
ments, whose  yearnings  would  not  be  silenced,  was  absolute- 
ly unbearable :  so,  when  coffee  was  served,  with  the  cakes 
and  sweetmeats,  and  his  services  as  carver  for  the  unmerci- 
fully fastidious  appetites  he  had  vainly  endeavored  to  ap- 
pease were  no  longer  required,  he  was  preparing  to  leave 
the  room,  when  a  voice  from  the  farther  end  of  the  table 
arrested  him.  Had  it  been  another  voice,  it  would,  I  fear, 
have  fallen  upon  ears  deaf  to  its  entreaties.  But  when  Miss 
Grace,  in  her  blandest  tones,  bade  him  "  come  and  pull  a 
wish-bone,"  he  could  not  refuse  without  compromising  the 
self-sacrificing  reputation  he  had  so  dearly  earned.  By  the 
time  the  "  merry-thought "  was  divided  between  Grace  and 
himself,  —  he  getting  the  larger  share,  —  his  wonted  suavity 
had  gained  the  ascendency.  "  What  nonsense,"  thought  he, 
"  to  go  without  my  supper !  There's  enough  left  to  feed  a 
hungry  regiment."  As  the  deacon  had  not  found  time  to 
replenish  his  first  plate,  he  concluded  Sam  was  no  better  off 
than  himself.  As  the  rest  were  leaving,  he  begged  him  to 
remain,  as  he  had  a  few  words  for  his  private  ear. 

"  How  did  you  get  on  with  your  carving  ?  I  haven't  eaten 
a  dozen  mouthfuls  !  " 

"  I  haven't  tasted  a  thing !  "  said  Sam,  in  his  surliest  tone. 

"Just  as  I  expected.  Hallo!  Sara!  bring  us  some  hot 
coffee,  and  everything  nice.  I'm  as  hungry  as  a  bear  after 
a  six  months'  fast.  Bring  a  clean  plate.  Come,  wife  ;  come, 
Mrs.  Miller." 


96  SELF-MADE,   OR 

Sara,  who  was  the  "  help  "  for  the  time  being,  hastened  to 
rearrange  the  head  of  the  table,  and  a  cup  or  two  of  the 
steaming,  delicious  beverage,  a  large  quantity  of  "  every- 
thing nice,"  and  Mrs.  Sloper's  lively  conversation,  soon  put 
Sam  in  the  best  possible  humour ;  and  when  he  joined  the 
company  in  the  great  "  west  room,"  no  one  was  the  wiser 
for  the  many  and  terrible  emotions  that  warred  so  furiously 
in  his  —  stomach. 

During  the  evening,  Grace  and  Mark  fell  into  a  quiet  chat. 
She  included  him  in  the  general  courtesy  extended  to  all, 
and,  as  if  by  accident,  was  seated  by  his  side.  Her  easy  and 
graceful  manner  won  his  confidence,  and  he  surprised  him- 
self by  indulging  in  a  vivacity  of  spirits  and  an  elevation  of 
thought  almost  foreign  to  his  nature.  He  actually  questioned 
the  propriety  of  uttering  sentiments  which  she  might  con- 
sider artificial,  or  at  least  inconsiderate,  in  one  so  vastly  her 
inferior  in  intellectual  culture  and  solid  acquirements.  On 
one  or  two  occasions  his  opinions  were  adverse  to  hers,  and 
once  he  corrected  her  on  some  incident  in  history,  where  she 
was  forced  to  yield  the  palm  to  his  superior  memory.  For 
the  first  time  in  his  life  he  found  himself  vis-a-vis  with  an 
educated,  accomplished,  elegant,  noble-hearted  young  lady, 
who  sought,  rather  than  shunned,  his  society.  The  effect 
was  congenial  to  his  mind  and  feelings,  instead  of  mortifying 
and  dispiriting,  as  on  former  occasions,  when  he  had  too 
often  been  made  the  victim  of  ridicule  and  unkindness. 

How  intensely  such  sensitive  minds  suffer  at  the  hands 
of  that  assumed  superiority  that  delights  in  harassing  those 
whom  they  consider  beneath  them !  Many  a  fine  mind  is 
debilitated,  if  not  utterly  paralyzed,  and  many  an  affectionate 
heart  wounded  and  rendered  sorrowful  in  the  morning  of 
life,  or  broken  at  its  noon,  through  such  treatment. 

Grace,  who  never  permitted  her  friendship  to  be  biassed 
by  the  preferences  or  dislikes  of  others,  saw  beside  her  a 
young  man  of  respectable  talents  and  scholarship,  joined  to 


LIVING  FOR   THOSE   WE   LOVE. 


97 


an  extremely  sensitive  temperament,  which  unhappy  pecu- 
liarity had  been  forced  by  depression  and  the  ill-natured  supe- 
riority to  which  he  had  been  subjected.  It  required  a  whole 
battery  of  tender  glances  from  her  spirited  eyes,  and  much 
gentleness  and  perseverance,  to  draw  out  his  strong  points 
of  character ;  but  she,  being  an  admirable  tactician,  suc- 
ceeded beyond  her  hopes.  Both  were  interested,  both  were 
delighted. 

"  You  are  quite  monopolizing  Miss  Pearson,  Mark.  Sup- 
pose you  trust  her  to  me  a  while  :  I  will  take  good  care  of  her." 

"  Certainly,  sir.  Excuse  me,  Miss  Pearson  :  I  fear  I  have 
trespassed  upon  your  goodness ;  but  I  am  so  pleased  to  find 
one  who  appreciates  me,  and  thinks  it  no  disparagement  to 
herself  to  treat  an  awkward  boy  with  kindness !  "  A  rich 
flood  of  happiness  swept  through  his  heart  until  it  over- 
flowed, betraying  itself  in  a  smile  so  radiant,  that  in  the  eyes 
of  the  fair  girl  at  his  side  he  seemed  beautiful  and  manly, 
with  a  mind  too  noble  to  be  raised  or  lowered  by  circum- 
stances. Her  heart  beat  a  tender  response  to  his,  when  she 
assured  him  the  pleasure  was  mutual. 

A  circle  was  formed  for  "  hunt  the  slipper."  Miss  Pear- 
son acted  as  prominent  a  part  in  this  as  in  "  hurly-burly  " 
and  "  run-the-thimble,"  that  preceded.  There  were  no 
forced  spirits  in  that  joyous  social  circle.  All  were  children 
in  deed  and  in  truth.  The  nimble  feet  that  tripped' so  lightly 
to  the  sound  of  the  witching  viol  were  none  the  less  fleet,- 
when  circling  round  the  room  in  anticipation  of  the  kiss  that 
followed  the  catching.  The  scarf,  which  answered  for  the 
slipper,  was  lying  at  Mark's  feet,  dropped  by  Grace,  none 
of  the  others  deigning  to  notice  him,  and  probably  not  wish- 
ing their  rosy  lips  to  come  in  contact  with  his.  He  sprang 
to  his  feet,  nothing  loath  to  accept  the  challenge  from  so  fair 
a  competitor.  Round  and  round  they  circled,  dodging  and 
doubling,  amid  the  reiterated  cheers  of  the  company,  who 
thought  the  prize  well  worth  the  contest. 
7 


98  SELF-MADE,    OR 

"  Go  it,  Stubbs ! "  sang  out  an  unruly  little  wretch,  who 
had  not  the  fear  of  the  deacon  before  his  eyes.  However, 
a  well-merited  rebuke,  given  in  a  whisper,  from  that  horrified 
worthy,  forbade  further  attempts  at  ridicule. 

At  last  the  twain  came  to  a  halt,  Miss  Pearson  receiving 
on  the  forehead  the  chaste  kiss  so  perseveringly  won.  She 
took  her  place  in  the  ring,  amid  much  merriment,  and  Mark 
went  round  and  round,  at  a  loss  as  to  who  should  be  the 
recipient  of  his  ungracious  favor.  There  was  evidently  a 
collapsing  of  crinoline,  —  though  "  extensions"  were  an  ab- 
surdity unheard  of  in  those  days,  —  and  Mark  could  see,  with 
half  an  eye,  that  none  would  feel  flattered  by  his  preference. 
He  threw  the  scarf  to  Nettie,  who  was  only  too  happy  to 
join  the  increasing  circle.  He  suffered  himself  to  be  easily 
caught,  and  Grace  made  room  for  him  at  her  side.  All  were 
so  interested  in  Mark's  growing  favour  with  Miss  Pearson 
that  they  paid  little  attention  to  Nettie,  until  they  descried 
the  deacon's  streaming  coat-tails  hard  in  the  chase  after  that 
little  nymph.  The  uproar  that  followed  this  discovery  made 
the  old  house  ring.  No  one  could  recognize  his  own  voice, 
or  tell  who  laughed  the  loudest,  or  longest.  Tears  of  delight 
rained  down  each  fair  cheek,  and  handkerchiefs  were  satu- 
rated with  the  excess  of  their  merriment.  The  deacon  was 
not  to  be  outdone  in  gallantry  ;  but  he  might  as  well  under- 
take to  catch  a  rabbit  in  a  cornfield  as  that  fleet-footed  little 
puss.  When  he  thought  he  had  her  just  within  his  grasp, 
she  was  half  way  round  on  the  other  side,  urging  him  to  re- 
newed effort.  Though  the  deacon  walked  with  no  snail's 
pace,  Nettie's  nimble  feet  were  more  than  a  match  for  him, 
and  when  she  thought  his  strength  and  patience  about  ex- 
hausted, she  became  a  willing  captive,  returning  his  "  smack  " 
with  a  seeming  relish. 

Thus  passed  the  pleasant  evening  until  the  old  clock  on 
the  wall  struck  the  hour  of  three.  Could  any  body  believe 
it  was  so  late.  It  must  be  too  fast  by  many  hours. 


LIVING   FOR   THOSE   WE   LOVE. 


99 


But  the  knowing  ones  began  to  whisper,  and  then  others 
talked  aloud  about  its  being  time  to  take  leave  of  their  host 
and  hostess  and  one  another.  All  united  in  saying  they  had 
had  a  "  splendid  time,"  and  each  buttoned  in  with  his  cloak 
and  overcoat  pleasant  memories,  that  lasted  a  lifetime. 

Grace  folded  Nettie's  faded  shawl  around  her,  imprint- 
ing a  parting  kiss  upon  her  lips  as  she  bade  her  good 
night. 

"  Shall  I  never  see  you  again?"  sobbed  the  child,  as  her 
arms  clung  to  the  dear  friend  who  had  encircled  her  in  her 
own. 

"  O,  yes,  I  mean  to  come  and  see  you  before  I  go  home. 
Where  do  you  live  ?  " 

"  Away  up  over  the  hill,  that  way,"  —  pointing  in  the  direc- 
tion of  their  house.  "  Do  come.  I  would  like  my  mother 
to  see  you." 

"  I  will  certainly  come,  Nettie  ;  so  good  night." 

"  Good  night,"  and  "  good  night,"  were  reiterated  and 
responded  to  until  the  door  closed  upon  the  last  retreating 
group. 

In  taking  leave  of  her  host  and  hostess  and  Mrs.  Miller, 
Grace  expressed  herself  happy  to  have  made  their  acquaint- 
ance, and  hoped  it  would  not  be  long  before  she  would  again 
visit  them. 

"  I  have  been  happier  to-night  than  I  ever  remember  to 
have  been  in  my  life." 

"  Yes,  it  don't  do  city  people  any  hurt  to  give  their  man- 
ners a  good  country  airing  once  in  a  while,"  replied  the 
deacon,  shaking  her  warmly  by  the  hand. 

"  My  city  and  country  manners  are  the  same,  sir.  I  fear  I 
do  not  inherit  more  dignity  than  is  meet  for  me.  Come  and 
see  me  in  my  father's  house,  and  judge  for  yourself  whether 
I  forgot  to  pack  up  my  '  airs '  with  my  travelling  outfit." 

This  and  much  more  pleasant  badinage  passed,  while  the 
last  load  was  being  shawled  and  muffled.  Miss  Pearson 


TOO  SELF-MADE,    OR 

was  one  of  the  last  to  take  her  departure.     The  house  was 
at  length  left  to  its  inmates  and  its  wonted  quietness. 

That  never-to-be-forgotten  dream  of  happiness  was  over ; 
and  Nettie  crept  to  her  bed.  in  the  great  unfurnished  cham- 
ber, with  no  light  to  cheer  its  gloom  but  what  the  sinking 
moon  afforded.  The  wind  shook  the  crazy  old  windows, 
and  the  snow  drifted  in  through  the  cracks,  and  Nettie 
thought  of  the  warm  fire  in  Mr.  Sloper's  house,  and  the 
cheerful,  happy  hearts  in  Mrs.  Miller's  cottage,  so  unlike  her 
own  home  ;  but  such  sweet  thoughts  came  crowding  in  upon 
her  heart,  that  she  almost  forgot  the  cold,  and  sank  to  sleep 
while  planning  little  reforms  and  improvements  for  the 
future.  And  then  she  dreamed  beautiful  dreams.  May  we 
not  believe  that  over  that  innocent  head  the  guardian  angels 
dropped  a  tear  of  pity? 


LIVING  FOR  THOSE  WE  LOVE.  IOI 


CHAPTER  XII. 
LITTLE  JANE  FALLS  ASLEEP. 

"  Weep  not  for  those 
Who  sink  within  the  arms  of  death 
Ere  yet  the  chilling  wintry  breath 

Of  sorrow  o'er  them  blows ; 
But  weep  for  them  who  here  remain, 
The  mournful  heritors  of  pain, 
Condemned  to  see  each  bright  joy  fade, 
And  mark  grief's  melancholy  shade 

Flung  o'er  Hope's  fairest  rose." 

MRS.  EMBURY. 

| HEN  Nettie  entered  her  mother's  room  early  on 
the  following  morning,  anxious  to  give  a  detailed 
account  of  all  she  had  seen  and  enjoyed,  she  was 
greeted  with  moans,  and  a  hard,  dry  cough  from 
little  sister.     Her  mother's  voice  arrested  her  ere  she 
gained  the  bedside. 

"  Nett,  go  and  build  a  fire  quick,  and  warm  some  water ; 
I  fear  Janie  has  the  croup  !  She's  been  wheezing  all  night ; 
hurry  yourself,  and  get  the  kitchen  warm,  so  I  can  get  up." 

For  two  hours  Nettie  and  her  mother  sat  by  the  cradle, 
doing  all  in  their  power  to  relieve  the  sick  child.  She  was 
restless  and  impatient,  and  complained  continually,  until 
Mrs.  Strange,  becoming  alarmed,  succeeded  in  arousing  her 
husband,  who  went  immediately  for  a  doctor.  To  Nettie 
the  time  seemed  long  before  the  physician  arrived.  The 
breathing  became  more  laboured ;  and  when  he  came  he 
looked  grave,  and  said  it  was  "  a  doubtful  case." 


IO2  SELF-MADE,   OR 

In  twenty-four  hours  little  Jane  was  with  the  angels. 

Nettie  had  never  seen  death  before ;  and  though  it  came 
in  its  mildest  form  and  softest  transition,  yet  it  was  death, 
and  bore  away  upon  its  dark,  receding  wing  the  little  head 
that  had  so  often  nestled  on  her  heart.  While  life  remained, 
she,  of  the  twain,  was  the  more  assiduous  in  her  efforts  to 
relieve  the  suffering  child,  moving  from  room  to  room,  as  if 
its  dear  life  depended  upon  the  alacrity  with  which  she 
warmed  the  flannel,  or  mixed  the  mustard,  or  prepared  the 
medicine.  The  mother  was  nervously  excited,  giving  vent 
to  her  tearless  grief  in  hysterical  sobbings  ;  the  father  weep- 
ing in  unrestrained  agony,  as  he  beheld  his  little  helpless 
one  in  the  iron  grasp  of  the  "  king  of  terrors."  On  Nettie 
and  the  doctor  devolved  the  task  of  nursing.  It  was  her 
hand  that  applied  the  draughts  and  chafed  the  contorted  limbs, 
and  her  arm  that  pillowed  the  little  head  when  the  medicine 
was  administered.  As  long  as  life  remained  she  could  do 
this,  and  much  more  if  need  were ;  but  when  the  struggle 
between  life  and  death  was  over,  and  she  saw  the  face  grow 
whiter  and  the  limbs  become  cold  and  rigid,  an  awe  crept 
over  her  heart,  and  an  indescribable  terror  nearly  paralyzed 
her  faculties.  The  colour  forsook  her  cheeks,  and  the  face, 
which  an  hour  before  was  flushed  with  anxiety  and  hope, 
became  pale  and  rigid  as  the  little  one  that  slept  so  sweetly 
in  its  peaceful  unconsciousness.  She  could  no  more  pillow 
that  little  head  on  her  breast,  now  that  death  had  left  its 
solemn  and  awful  impress  there,  than  she  could  restore  life 
to  the  little  body  lying  so  silently  under  the  white  sheet.  A 
shudder  ran  through  her  limbs  as  she  was  bidden  by  one  of 
the  women,  who  assisted  in  the  "  laying-out,"  to  go  into  the 
room  where  the  body  was,  and  get  some  article  that  was 
required.  For  a  moment  she  sat  gazing  abstractedly  into  the 
woman's  face  ;  then  a  faint  realization  of  the  purport  of  her 
words  came  to  her,  and  she  attempted  to  rise,  but  clung  to 
the  chair  for  support,  and  would  have  fallen  ;  but  the  woman, 


LIVING   FOR   THOSE   WE   LOVE.  103 

seeing  her  bloodless  face  and  large,  dilated  eyes,  caught  her 
and  replaced  her  in  her  chair. 

"  Why,  Nettie,  how  cold  you  are  !     Are  you  ill?  " 

"  I  don't  know  —  yes  —  I  feel  sick." 

"  She  has  had  no  sleep  for  two  nights,"  said  Mrs.  Strange. 

"  You  had  better  go  up  stairs  and  lie  down." 

"  No,  no  !     I  could  not  sleep  !     Let  me  stay  here." 

She  thought  of  the  dear  lady  who  had  spoken  so  kindly  to 
her  on  New  Year's  night,  and  wished  —  O  how  much  she 
wished  !  — she  was  here.  The  colour  came  slowly  to  her  lips, 
but  she  dared  not  express  her  desire,  until  some  mention  was 
made  of  the  making  of  the  shroud,  when  she  ventured  to  ask 
if  she  might  go  for  the  dear  young  lady.  Mrs.  Miller,  who 
was  present,  immediately  seconded  her  proposal,  but  thought 
her  father  might  go,  as  Nettie  was  too  ill ;  and  added,  "  As 
there  will  be  the  muslin  to  buy,  you  had  better  let  your 
father  go,  or  some  of  us." 

"  No,  no  !  do  let  me  go.  The  cool  air  will  do  me  good, 
my  head  aches  so  !  " 

"  Go,"  said  her  father ;  "  and  as  you  come  back  you  can 
stop  at  the  store  for  the  muslin.  How  much  will  it  take?" 

The  number  of  yards  was  decided  upon,  and  as  silently 
as  she  could  Nettie  passed  the  outer  door,  and  hurried 
through  the  gathering  shadows.  Overcome  with  excitement 
and  terror,  and  a  multitude  of  confused  thoughts  rushing 
through  her  mind,  she  scarcely  remembered  how  she  came 
there,  the  moments  seemed  so  few  since  leaving  her  father's 
door. 

The  reverberation  of  the  heavy  knocker  on  Mr.  Maynard's 
door  startled  her  ;  and  not  until  "  Nettie,  dear  Nettie  "  fell 
upon  her  ear,  and  she  found  herself  clasped  in  the  arms  of 
Grace,  did  she  fully  realize  where  she  was,  or  the  purport 
of  her  errand.  She  stopped  as  Grace  drew  near  a  sofa,  and 
drawing  Nettie  clown  by  her  side,  pressed  her  hand  very 
affectionately  between  both,  of  hers. 


104  SELF-MADE,   OR 

"  You  are  very  pale,  Nettie,  and  cold.  You  have  worn 
nothing  around  you  but  this  thin  shawl,  and  are  without 
gloves  or  mittens.  But  you  do  not  feel  the  cold,  I  presume, 
your  poor  heart  is  so  sad.  Yes,  I  know  what  it  is,  Nettie, 
that  makes  you  tremble  so ;  we  heard  of  your  bereavement 
this  afternoon." 

"And  will  you  come?"  cried  Nettie,  in  imploring  ac- 
cents, though  in  a  tone  so  agitated  as  to  render  her  words 
nearly  inaudible. 

"  Come?    Who  wants  me  to  come? " 

"  I  do.  I  came  for  you  to  make  baby's  little  shroud,  —  the 
little  white  dress  that  she's  to  be  buried  in.  Mother  told  me 
to,  and  father  says  we  are  to  stop  at  the  store  and  buy  the 
muslin." 

"  Certainly,  I  will  do  both.  Thank  you,  dear  Nettie,  for 
thinking  of  me  in  this  your  day  of  trial.  When  we  are  in 
trouble,  darling,  we  think  of  our  dearest  friends  first ;  "  and 
she  drew  the  little  yielding  head  closer  to  her  breast,  and 
spoke  words  of  sympathy  and  consolation. 

"  Your  little  sister  is  now  an  angel  in  heaven  ;  she  will 
never  suffer  more,  nor  sin  more.  The  Saviour  sent  beautiful 
angels,  all  robed  in  white,  to  bear  her  soul  away  to  never- 
ending  happiness.  She  has  not  gone  far :  a  few  years  and 
you  shall  see  little  Janie  again ;  you  will  follow  her  through 
death's  dark  valley,  but  you  will  find  the  loved  and  lost  in 
the  regions  of  eternal  day.  Her  pure  spirit  knew  no  sin  ; 
she  had  no  stains  to  wash  away  to  fit  her  for  her  passage  to 
the  skies.  Jesus  died  that  He  might  prepare  a  glorious 
home  for  little  innocents  like  her  ;  and  for  us  all,  if  we  will 
but  have  faith  in  His  name.  This  is  faith,  to  know  that  He 
is  God,  and  that  He  cannot  err.  He  sunders  the  dearest 
ties,  the  sweetest  bonds,  the  holiest  love,  that  bind  our 
hearts  to  earth.  O,  how  we  cry  out  in  anguish  of  soul  when 
our  loved  ones  are  torn  from  our  embrace  !  But  Faith  looks 
up  and  says,  '  Father,  thy  will  be  done.'  Faith  questions 


LIVING   FOR   THOSE   WE   LOVE.  10$ 

not  the  justice  of  the  Almighty.  No  'why?'  nor  'where- 
fore?' should  issue  from  our  lips." 

"  O,  it  is  so  dreadful  to  see  her  lie  there  dead ! "  sobbed 
Nettie,  her  tears,  the  first  she  had  shed,  raining  on  the  gentle 
bosom  that  supported  her. 

"  It  is  not  little  Janie  that  you  see  lying  there  so  cold  and 
white.  It  is  only  the  little  casket,  without  sense  or  feeling, 
that  will  be  borne  away  to  the  silent  house  appointed  for 
all  things ;  the  priceless  gem  which  was  but  yesterday  en- 
shrined in  it,  is  now  a  beautiful  jewel  in  Jesus's  crown.  Its 
brightness  can  never  become  tarnished,  and  throughout  all 
eternity  she  will  be  enjoying  more  and  more  of  the  blessed- 
ness of  heaven.  If  she  had  lived,  think  how  much  she 
might  have  suffered,  and  perhaps  sinned.  Another  thing : 
remember  the  body  of  your  sister  will  one  day  be  raised 
from  the  dead,  and  shine  like  Christ's  glorified  body." 

Nettie  looked  up  with  eager,  inquiring  eyes,  and  over 
her  sweet,  thoughtful  face  there  seemed  to  shine  a  glorious 
faith,  imparted  from  Him  who  afflicts  not  willingly  the 
children  of  His  love. 

"  Your  words  have  made  me  very  happy.  I  will  try  and 
not  weep  any  more  for  little  Janie.  I  only  wish  I  was  in 
heaven,  too." 

"  No,  Nettie,  you  must  not  wish  that ;  that  was  a  sinful 
thought.  In  God's  own  appointed  time  the  beautiful  angel, 
Death,  will  summon  you  away  ;  and  what  though  his  touch 
be  cold,  and  the  shadows  of  the  grave  lie  along  his  pathway? 
It  is  Death's  hand  that  unlocks  the  golden  gates  of  the  beau- 
tiful city,  and  restores  our  loved  ones  to  our  gaze.  There 
they  will  watch  and  wait  for  us  until  we  are  all  at  home  in 
the  Saviour's  fold." 

"  O,  how  my  tears  flow !  Indeed,  I  cannot  help  it,  Miss 
Pearson." 

"  Do  not  try  to  help  it,  Nettie ;  let  them  flow  freely.  It 
is  a  blessed  luxury  to  weep  when  the  heart  aches.  It  is  a 


IO6  SELF-MADE,    OR 

stoic's  nature  that  disdains  to  weep  ;  and  we  do  violence  to 
our  own  when  we  force  back  the  hot  tears  upon  our  stricken 
hearts.  Tears  are  welcome  when  the  strained  eyeballs 
burn,  and  the  heart's  emotion  is  too  intense  and  powerful  for 
utterance.  Jesus  wept  for  His  friend  Lazarus,  and  He  will 
not  condemn  the  broken-hearted  when  their  tears  flow  in 
anguish,  not  in  sinful  murmurings  and  rebellion  against  His 
chastisement.  For  only  a  few  weary  years  they  are  hid  from 
our  view,  and  we  lose  their  society  and  sweet  companion- 
ship, and  sweeter  counsels." 

"  O,  I  do  love  to  hear  you  talk  so :  you  have  taught  me 
what  I  never  knew  before.  It  makes  me  very  happy,  and 
very  sad  ;  happy,  to  know  that  the  heaven  which  you  have 
pictured  so  beautiful  and  bright  is  now  my  little  sister's 
home ;  sad,  when  I  think  of  my  own  sinful  heart,  and  how 
much  better  and  holier  it  must  become  before  I  can  look  up 
to  Jesus  as  my  Saviour."  As  her  voice  trembled,  and  she 
hid  her  face  on  the  young  lady's  shoulder,  Grace  was  her- 
self affected  to  tears.  Presently  she  said,  — 

"Nettie,  do  you  fe'el  the  need  of  a  Saviour's  love?  Would 
you  have  God  for  your  Father  and  Friend?  one  to  whom 
you  can  always  go  when  your  heart  is  oppressed  with  a 
weight  of  sorrow  grievous  to  be  borne?  one  on  whom  you 
can  lean,  with  a  sweet,  clinging  faith,  when  your  own 
strength  is  too  feeble  to  meet  the  exigencies  of  a  moment 
like  this?" 

Nettie  lifted  her  swimming  eyes  to  the  face  of  her  friend, 
but  she  hesitated  to  reply  ;  and  Grace  proceeded  :  — 

"  The  Bible  teaches  that  Jesus  hath  borne  our  sins  and 
sorrows  in  His  own  body  on  the  cross.  He  died  a  sacrifice 
for  our  transgressions.  Perhaps  this  very  affliction  was  sent 
to  draw  you  closer  to  the  pierced  feet  of  the  Crucified  One. 
O,  Nettie,  now  is  the  time  to  seek  the  Saviour,  in  the  days  of 
your  youth,  before  your  heart  becomes  engrossed  with  the 
cares  of  the  world,  or  hardened  by  sin.  O,  seek  Him  who 


LIVING   FOR   THOSE    WE   LOVE. 


107 


was  sent  into  the  world  to  bind  up  and  heal  the  broken- 
hearted." 

"  I  should  so  like  to  become  pious  and  good ! "  sobbed 
Nettie.  "  Teach  me  to  become  what  you  are." 

"  Make  Christ  not  only  your  sacrifice,  but  your  pattern, 
my  dear  child.  He  is  without  sin,  pure  and  holy.  He  is 
more  worthy  to  be  imitated  than  the  best  of  us.  I  would 
have  you  better  than  I  am,  Nettie,  for  I  have  a  very  sinful 
heart." 

"You?" 

"  Yes,  darling ;  my  heart  is  sometimes  light  and  trifling, 
and  prone  to  set  too  great  store  by  the  pleasures  of  this 
world ;  and  sometimes  I  find  my  religious  duties  irksome. 
I  felt  last  summer  that  my  Sabbath  school  class  was  becom- 
ing tiresome.  The  weather  was  warm,  and  I  had  a  good 
way  to  walk,  and  my  duties  as  a  teacher  were  not  as 
solemnly  impressed  upon  my  heart  as  they  should  have 
been.  And  I  often  have  a  desire  to  dress  in  a  style  un- 
becoming a  Christian.  I  never  could  reconcile  gay  and 
costly  dress  with  a  meek  and  humble  spirit.  Still  my  heart 
rebels  sometimes,  when  I  see  this  and  that  to  admire, 
and  think  how  becoming  it  would  be  to  me.  It  is  only  a 
strong  effort  of  the  will,  and  urgent,  earnest  prayer,  and  the 
grace  of  God,  that  keep  me  from  becoming  a  vain,  worldly- 
minded  woman.  The  world  has  many  allurements  for  the 
young,  and  the  heart,  unregenerated  by  the  Holy  Spirit,  is 
apt  to  seek  its  pleasures  in  things  present,  impatient  to  be 
held  in  check  by  a  prohibition  of  what  would  eventually  be 
its  ruin." 

Nettie's  tears  ceased  to  flow,  but  a  deeper  sadness  lay  upon 
her  heart.  She  thought  if  the  angelic  being  at  her  side, 
from  whose  sweet  lips  dropped  such  gentle  admonition,  such 
heart-felt  sympathy,  and  who  held  up  virtue  and  goodness 
in  their  fairest  light,  and  gave  to  sin  its  most  hideous  aspect ; 
who  practised  self-denial  that  she  might  add  to  the  happi- 


IO8  SELF-MADE,    OR 

ness  of  others ;  who  so  nobly  exemplified  the  Christian's 
character  in  her  every-day  life  ;  who,  she  felt  sure,  was  as 
spotless  as  an  angel,  —  if  she,  with  all  her  strength  and  puri- 
ty, had  struggles  and  heart-trials  to  encounter  and  overcome, 
what  must  her  own  be  when  contending  with  more  and  se- 
verer trials  than  would  fall  to  the  lot  of  her  friend?  She 
thought  of  her  own  darkened  home.  A  spirit  of  evil 
seemed  ever  brooding  over  its  portals,  as  if  to  preclude  the 
possibility  of  a  change  for  the  better ;  and  now  that  death 
had  been  there,  and  robbed  it  of  the  only  little  sunbeam  that 
gladdened  her  existence  and  brightened  her  gloom,  she 
shrank  from  contemplating  what  the  future  might  be,  and 
then,  as  if  determined  to  master  the  tide  of  painful  thoughts 
surging  around  her  heart,  she  answered  less  despondingly 
when  questioned  upon  the  subject  of  her  home  and  its  asso- 
ciations. Although  the  questions  were  delicately  put  and  as 
delicately  answered,  enough  was  gleaned  by  Grace  to  give 
her  an  insight  into  Nettie's  family  relations,  and  her  large 
heart  sympathized  deeply  with  her  in  this  her  first  bereave- 
ment. 

She  discovered  in  Nettie  a  mind  capable  of  receiving  and 
retaining  strong  impressions,  and  she  felt  assured  that  the 
good  seed  dropped  now  would  fall  upon  a  fertile  soil.  She 
saw  also  that  she  had  taken  a  strong  hold  upon  Nettie's  af- 
fections, and  resolved  that  hers  should  be  the  hand  to  mould 
that  pliant  mind  to  a  divine  likeness.  She  raised  her  heart 
in  silent  prayer  to  Him  who  seeth  and  heareth  in  secret,  for 
strength  and  guidance  in  this  her  heavenly  undertaking. 

Mrs.  Maynard  just  then  came  in  to  see  if  the  parlour  fire 
needed  mending,  and  expressed  surprise  to  find  Nettie  there, 
and  her  unreserved  astonishment  when  informed  of  her 
errand. 

"  I  am  quite  surprised  that  your  mother  should  send  for 
Miss  Grace  to  do  up  her  sewing,  perfect  stranger  as  she  is, 
and  I  presume  unaccustomed  to  jobs  of  this  kind." 


LIVING  FOR   THOSE   WE   LOVE.  109 

"  My  mother  did  not  send  me,"  interposed  Nettie,  tear- 
fully ;  "  she  said  nearly  the  same  words  herself  when  I  begged 
to  come.  It  was  at  my  own  earnest  entreaty  that  she  con- 
sented." 

"  It  is  presuming  upon  her  very  considerably,  I  think." 

"  1  assure  you,  my  dear  Mrs.  Maynard,  it  will  afford  me  the 
greatest  pleasure  to  go.  I  had  thought  of  proposing  it  to 
Helen,  and  asking  her  to  accompany  me,  even  before  Nettie 
came.  I  am  not  unaccustomed  to  scenes  enacted  in  the 
chambers  of  the  sick  and  dying.  It  involves  no  sacrifice  on 
my  part,  when  I  assist  in  the  last  sad  duties  in  the  house 
of  mourning." 

"  I  advise  you  to  marry  an  undertaker,  and  live  in  a  grave- 
yard," sneered  Miss  Helen,  who  had  followed  her  mother 
into  the  room,  but  had  remained  silent  during  this  strange 
colloquy. 

"  Why  didn't  your  mother  send  for  Mrs.  Miller,  or  Mrs. 
Selden,  or  some  of  the  other  neighbours?  They  can  any 
of  them  make  a  shroud  good  enough  for  a  child  to  be 
buried  in." 

Nettie's  voice  trembled  as  she  informed  them  of  her  moth- 
er's almost  distracted  mind,  and  that  Mrs.  Miller  and  several 
others  were  already  there.  "  But,"  added  she,  winking  the 
tears  from  her  eyes,  "  I  would  so  like  to  have  this  dear  young 
lady  go  with  me,  if  you  please.  I  thought  little  Janie's  mem- 
ory would  be  pleasanter,  if  her  hands  made  the  little  dress 
in  which  I  shall  see  her  for  the  last  time." 

"  Quite  romantic,  indeed ! "  laughed  Helen. 

"  You  can  bring  the  stuff  here,  and  we  can  help  to  sew 
it  up,  without  the  '  dear  lady '  tramping  away  up  there  in 
the  snow.  Have  you  got  the  cloth  ?  " 

"  No,  ma'am  ;  it  is  not  bought  yet ;  we  are  to  call  at  the 
store  for  it  as  we  go  home." 

"  Did  you  bring  the  money  to  pay  for  it?" 

"  No,  ma'am." 


HO  SELF-MADE,   OR 

-  * 

"  What  an  absurd  question  to  ask  !    If  your  father  would — " 

Nettie's  ear  did  not  catch  the  unfinished  sentence,  as  the 
door  closed  with  a  loud  bang  just  at  that  moment ;  but  Grace 
heard  it,  and  also  the  inquiry  relative  to  the  money,  and  it 
smote  upon  her  heart  like  a  knell.  She  begged  Mrs.  May- 
nard  to  give  herself  no  further  uneasiness  on  her  account,  as 
she  had  made  up  her  mind  to  go,  and  thought  possibly  she 
might  remain  all  night. 

"  I  guess  you'll  change  your  mind  when  you  get  there." 

"  Let  her  do  as  she  pleases,  mother.  She  is  such  a  phi- 
lanthropist, she  won't  mind  a  little  dirt  or  tobacco  smoke." 

This  unfeeling  remark  was  made  as  they  were  leaving  the 
house,  and  Grace  hoped  Nettie  had  not  heard  it. 

They  walked  silently  side  by  side  until  they  came  to  the 
cross-roads,  one  of  which  led  to  the  village  store.  Nettie 
paused  as  though  a  sudden  and  painful  thought  oppressed 
her. 

"  No,  no,  I  cannot ;  I  will  let  father  come  for  the  muslin. 
He  must  have  forgotten  to  give  me  the  money."  And  she 
knew  Mr.  Maynard  never  trusted  her  father. 

"  Give  yourself  no  uneasiness,  dear  Nettie.  Come  with 
me  to  the  store.  I  wish  not  only  to  make  your  little  sister's 
shroud,  but  to  purchase  it.  That  was  a  sweet  thought  of 
yours,  Nettie,  one  that  I  shall  forever  cherish  in  my  heart ; 
and  to-day  has  been  one  of  the  days  that  will  live  always  in 
my  memory."  ' 

"  O,  you  are  too  kind,  dear  Miss  Grace.  I  did  not  think 
of  asking  so  much  of  a  stranger." 

"We  are  no  longer  strangers,  Nettie.  Something  tells 
me  that  we  shall  know  a  great  deal  of  each  other,  and 
perhaps  contribute  largely  to  each  other's  happiness.  Our 
two  natures  are  very  much  alike,  and  we  will  do  each  other 
good.  What  a  comfort  it  would  be  to  me,  if  all  the  secret 
thoughts,  interests,  hopes,  and  desires  of  your  heart  could 
be  poured  unreservedly  and  fearlessly  into  mine  !  I  have 


LIVING   FOR   THOSE   WE    LOVE.  Ill 

few  confidants,  Nettie,  but  I  would  not  fear  to  make  you 
one.  It  does  me  good  to  come  in  contact  with  a  true  heart, 
an  unsullied  nature,  when  there  are  so  many  proud,  soul- 
less persons  in  the  world ;  it  raises  me  farther  from  earth, 
and  brings  me  nearer  to  heaven.  But  here  we  are  at  the 
store." 

u  Let  me  look  at  some  fine  jacconet,  if  you  please.  Yes, 
that  will  do.  Cut  me  two  yards.  Have  you  some  white 
merino?" 

"  Not  any." 

"  I  am  sorry.  Show  me  some  book  muslin.  Not  quite  as 
coarse  as  this.  Yes,  this  is  finer.  Three  yards,  and  two 
yards  of  narrow  white  ribbon." 

"  Anything  more  ?  " 

"  Nothing  more  to-day." 

"  Nine  and  sixpence.     Thank  you." 

And  the  twain  left  the  store  without  further  compliments 
or  embarrassments,  the  one  thinking,  — 

"  How  cheap 

Is  genuine  happiness,  yet  how  dearly 
Do  we  all  pay  for  its  base  counterfeit!  " 

"  Nine  and  sixpence !  what  an  insignificant  sum  to  pay 
for  the  train  of  beautiful  happy  thoughts  which  come  like 
a  shower  of  sunshine  to  my  heart!  Nine  and  sixpence!  so 
little  to  purchase  joy  for  two ;  the  greater,  because  shared 
by  another.  How  true  that  beautiful  sentiment  I  read  this 
morning  in  Young's  Night  Thoughts  !  — 

'  Nature,  in  her  zeal  for  human  amity, 
Denies  or  damps  an  undivided  joy. 
Joy  is  an  import;  joy  is  an  exchange; 
Joy  flies  monopolists  ;  it  calls  for  two; 
Rich  fruit !    Heaven-planted  !  never  plucked  by  one.' " 

The  other  was  wounded  and  distressed  at  heart;  for  upon 
their  entrance,  Mr.  Maynard  senior  had  riveted  upon  Nettie 


112  SELF-MADE,   OR 

his  sharp  gray  eyes,  as  much  as  to  ask,  "  What  do  you  want 
here?"  At  least  Nettie  thus  interpreted  his  keen  inquiring 
gaze;  but  her  friend  came  instantly  to  her  relief;  and  now, 
thank  Heaven  !  she  was  once  more  out  in  the  free  air,  trying 
to  overcome  the  choking  sensation  that  made  her  throat  ache. 
She  took  long  respirations,  until  the  pain  subsided.  Then, 
in  a  voice  scarcely  audible,  she  interrupted  her  companion's 
revery  by  saying  — 

"  This  is  the  only  thing  I  shall  ask  of  you,  Miss  Pearson, 
except  it  is  your  forgiveness  for  putting  you  to  so  much 
trouble.  It  is  too  bad  that  you  should  be  obliged  to  dis- 
please them  to  serve  me.  It  will  never  occur  again,  I 
hope." 

"  Nettie,  do  you  really  hope  that?  Do  you  sincerely  wish 
you  may  never  have  another  occasion  to  test  my  friend- 
ship?" 

"  No,  no,  not  that.  I  love  you  so  dearly  I  can  never  for- 
get you  while  I  live  ;  but  I  fear  you  will  gain  the  displeasure 
of  your  friends  by  doing  us  this  great  kindness.  Do  not 
come  again  to  our  house,  if  they  object.  I  will  not  be  self- 
ish. I  had  rather  not  see  you  again,  if  you  have  to  be 
scolded  for  it." 

A  smile  passed  over  the  placid  features  of  Grace,  as  she 
replied  archly,  — 

"  Do  not  let  it  trouble  you,  Nettie.  You  were  never  far- 
ther from  right  than  when  you  imagine  their  regards  or  dis- 
regards, likes  or  dislikes,  can  influence  mine.  Where  were 
my  independence  or  strength  of  character,  if  I  permitted 
myself  to  be  swayed  by  the  caprices  of  others  ?  We  often 
come  in  contact  with  those  who  do  not  perfectly  harmonize 
with  us,  and  I  am  convinced  it  is  best  to  avoid  a  collision, 
if  possible  ;  taking  care,  however,  that  they  do  not  jostle  us 
out  of  the  rigltt  path.  I  know  I  am  doing  right  now,  and 
doing  that  which  pleases  me  ;  and  the  happiness  conferred 
upon  myself,  to  say  nothing  of  others,  will  more  than  com- 


LIVING  FOR  THOSE  WE  LOVE.  Il-\ 

pensate  me  for  their  peevishness  and  ill  humor.  They  are 
only  a  little  too  careful  of  me.  Give  yourself  no  uneasiness 
as  to  the  scolding." 

Grace  could  not  help  laughing  at  Nettie's  fears.     Nettie 
caught  the  smile,  and  happier  thoughts  took  possession  of 
her  heart  as  soon  as  the  subject  was  purposely  changed. 
8 


SELF-MADE,   OR 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

A  ROMANTIC  WALK  TO  REAL  LIFE. 

"  How  oft,  upon  yon  eminence,  our  pace 
Has  slackened  to  a  pause,  and  we  have  borne 
The  ruffling  wind,  scarce  conscious  that  it  blew, 
While  admiration,  feeding  at  the  eye, 
And  still  unsated,  dwelt  upon  the  scene !  " 

COWPER. 

"Make  not  one  child  a  warning  to  another;  but  chide  the  offender 

apart, 

For  self-conceit  and  wounded  pride  rankle  like  poisons  in  the  soul." 

TUPPER. 

jjHIS  is  quite  a  long  hill  to  climb,  and  I  think  the 
snow  is  deeper  up  here,"  said  Grace,  pausing  to 
take  breath. 

"  Yes,  this  road  is  not  as  much  used  as  the 
main  street.  There  is  hardly  ever  any  sleighing  past  our 
house,  and  but  for  one  of  the  neighbours  hauling  wood,  would 
scarcely  be  broken.  Sometimes,  after  a  heavy  snow,  I  am 
the  first  to  make  a  path." 

"  O,  I  almost  envy  you  the  sport.  I  love  the  snow,  and 
always  hail  its  coming  with  delight.  There  is  a  strange 
beauty  in  its  fleecy  whiteness  when  it  lies  soft  and  warm  on 
the  hills,  under  a  '  rosy  flood  of  twilight  sky,'  or  when  the 
bright  moonlight  '  sleeps  upon  its  banks.'  I  never  see  the 
white  flakes  fall  without  their  seeming  fresh  from  the  spirit- 
land,  sent  on  angelic  missions.  They  awaken  thoughts  and 


LIVING  FOR   THOSE   WE   LOVE.  115 

feelings  pure  as  themselves.  See  how  soft  and  white  it  lies 
on  the  stern  face  of  yonder  mountain !  I  would  like  a 
scramble  up  there  among  the  rocks  and  evergreens." 

"  It  is  very  beautiful  in  summer,  when  the  moss  under  the 
cliff  is  green  and  soft." 

"  I  rather  like  it  as  it  is  now,  in  its  stern,  cold  grandeur, 
jutting  out  bold  and  strong  in  its  bleak,  sterile  majesty,  with- 
out the  added  grace  and  loveliness  of  summer.  I  like 
things  best  in  their  wild  state,  animate  and  inanimate  :  their 
characteristic  simplicity  and  my  heart  have  a  strong  affinity  ; 
so  soon  as  they  become  polished,  and  glossed  over  with  arti- 
ficial impressions,  they  lose  half  their  interest  to  me." 

"  Then  you  would  like  our  hills  less  if  they  were  clothed 
with  grass  and  flowers,  instead  of  rocks  and  evergreens,  and 
ignorant  people  better  than  those  who  know  a  great  deal." 

"  I  do  not  mean  to  say  that  a  mind  uncultivated  is  more 
to  be  admired  than  one  polished  by  education  and  refined 
associations,  or  that  some  pages  in  great  nature's  history 
might  not  be  embellished  with  much  that  would  please  the 
eye  and  charm  the  mind  ;  but  to  me  it  is  a  moment  of  in- 
spiration when  I  see  something  untouched  by  the  hand 
of  art,  or  differing  from  its  fellows  in  some  peculiarity.  A 
summer  landscape,  richly  shaded  with  light  and  dark  green 
foliage,  gorgeous  with  varied  and  many-coloured  floral  beau- 
ties, is  really  to  be  admired ;  but  it  fascinates  the  senses  for 
the  moment  only.  The  pleasure  it  evolves  is  nipped  with 
the  first  frost ;  and,  like  the  foliage  and  the  flowers,  it  is  most- 
ly dependent  upon  a  sunny  day  and  a  clear  blue  sky.  That 
barren  hill-side  yonder,  on  whose  bald  visage  the  storm-king 
of  to-day  heaps  the  snow-drifts,  may  to-morrow  be  unmasked 
by  him.  Calm  and  unresentful  it  stands,  and  the  clashing 
elements  affect  it  as  little  as  though  they  warred  not.  Beau- 
tiful type  of  noble  manhood  —  is  it  not?  Dim  miniature 
of  greatness  absolute !  Like,  and  yet  unlike ;  like  in  indi- 
viduality, stability,  stamina,  and  dignified  repose ;  unlike, 


Il6  SELF-MADE,   OR 

because  inactive  and  unconscious.  How  do  you  like  tha 
comparison?" 

"  A  very  homely  one,  I  should  say,  if  all  hills  are  like 
ours." 

"  Homely,  say  you  ?  I  did  not  think  our  tastes  differed  so 
much.  Do  you  see  no  beauty  in  your  native  hills  ?  " 

"  Not  much.  I've  often  wondered  why  they  were  ever 
made.  I  know  they  are  awful  hard  to  climb.  I  get  very 
tired  when  I  go  for  the  sheep  and  cows,  and  wish,  sometimes, 
there  never  had  been  such  a  thing  as  a  hill ;  and  that  big 
one  yonder,  which  you  think  so  beautiful  and  grand,  is  the 
worst  of  the  whole.  It  grows  nothing  but  sorrel,  and  mul- 
lein-stalks, and  thistles,  and  such  like." 

They  both  laughed  a  little,  pleasant  laugh,  and  by  this 
time  had  reached  the  upper  cross-roads,  one  turning  off  to- 
wards Mr.  Strange's  house.  Miss  Pearson  said  she  feared 
Nettie  would  not  make  a  very  good  Highlander,  and,  after 
a  short  pause,  added,  — 

"  I  wish  my  birthplace  had  been  in  some  cosy  nook  among 
the  Alps,  or,  to  come  nearer  home,  among  the  Highlands 
of  Scotland,  where  the  heather,  with  which  I  invest  their 
snow-capped  summits,  blooms  for  its  own  sweet  sake,  and 
'the  whispering  air  sends  inspiration  from  the  mountain 
heights.'  But  were  I  a  peasant-girl,  and  obliged  to  herd  my 
father's  sheep  and  goats,  the  poetry  might  be  simmered  down 
into  the  dullest  kind  of  prose." 

"  The  novelty  would  soon  wear  off,  I  think." 

"  The  novelty  of  being  a  shepherdess  might ;  for  it  must 
be  tiresome  to  climb  steep  hills,  and  hunt  for  and  follow 
truant  flocks ;  but  a  home  among  those  wild  mountain 
scenes,  far  away  in  some  secluded  haunt,  with  the  brooklet's 
gentle  music,  and  the  sweet  noise  of  the  waterfall  creeping 
by  my  door,  would  be  delightful.  I  do  not  mean  a  simple, 
old-fashioned  herdsman's  cot,  although  in  such  a  one  I 
might  be  very  happy  ;  but  one  fashioned  after  a  model  of  my 


LIVING   FOR   THOSE   WE   LOVE.  1 17 

own  making — one  which  my  matter-of-fact  brother  Frank 
would  call  an  «  air  castle.'  He  thinks  me  quite  famous  for 
building  '  castles  in  the  air.'  But,  indeed,  I  am  not  the  dreamer 
he  supposes  me ;  it's  only  now  and  then  that  I  explore  the 
realms  of  fancy.  Then  I  not  only  build  castles,  but  whole 
towns  and  cities,  provinces  and  empires,  and  people  them 
with  beings  and  things  according  to  my  liking.  Now,  when 
next  I  get  on  my  thinking-cap,  I  shall  have  some  new  faces 
and  names  for  my  fairy  kingdom  ;  and,  Nettie,  if  you  say  so, 
I'll  not  build  any  rocky  hills  around  your  home.  It  shall  be 
a  beautiful  summer  landscape,  such  as  you  like,  and  you 
shall  flit  among  the  flowers,  the  brightest  of  them  all ;  only 
you  shall  come  to  see  me  in  my  mountain  eyrie,"  —  and  the 
arm  under  the  warm  shawl  that  encircled  both  tightened 
around  Nettie,  and  the  two  hearts  seemed  as  firmly  knitted 
as  though  but  one  pulse  told  the  number  of  their  beats. 

"  Do  not  separate  our  homes,  dear  Miss  Grace ;  you  can 
build  a  castle  large  enough  for  us  both." 

"  But  you  would  not  like  to  live  so  far  up  among  the  rocks 
as  mine  would  be." 

"  O,  anywhere,  so  I  might  be  with  you." 

"  Then  I'll  not  divide  the  estates,  and  you  shall  be  the 
little  nymph  of  the  grove,  and  I  will  always  paint  you  good 
and  beautiful,  as  you  are.  But,  Nettie,  this  of  course  is  only 
ideality,  and  may  never  be  —  at  least  not  in  this  world  ;  but 
somewhere  in  the  great  universe  our  souls  will  live,  and  there 
we  may  know  and  love  each  other.  We  may  give  our  fancies 
boundless  scope,  and  our  creative  genius  transform  the  dull- 
est things  of  earth  into  a  shower  of  gold ;  with  this  we  may 
build  palaces  glorious  to  the  mind's  eye  ;  but  '  eye  hath  not 
seen,  nor  ear  heard,  neither  hath  it  entered  the  heart  of  man, 
the  things  that  are  prepared  for  them  who  love  God.' " 

They  had  now  reached  the  footpath  which  diverged  from 
the  road.  Nettie  pulled  down  the  bars  that  let  them  into  the 
field  of  stubble,  in  the  midst  of  which  stood  the  great, 


Il8  SELF-MADE,    OR 

gaunt-looking  house  of  Mr.  Strange.  Grace  at  once  re- 
marked its  cheerless  and  almost  desolate  aspect,  a  heavy 
sigh  escaping  her  heart  to  think  that  this  was  Nettie's  home. 
Her  eye  wandered  over  the  unbroken  waste  of  snow.  Save 
a  large,  misshapen  oak,  at  the  back  of  the  house,  neither  tree 
nor  shrub  was  within  the  enclosure  ;  and  the  dead  cornstalks 
and  grain-stubble,  standing  close  about  the  house,  showed 
there  had  been  no  flower-garden  in  summer  to  relieve  its 
gloom.  A  small  barn,  and  some  hayricks,  enclosed  by  a 
rude  rail  fence,  and  a  long  well-sweep,  were  the  only  signs 
of  improvement.  "  There  must  be  an  orchard  somewhere," 
thought  Grace ;  but  it  was  not  in  sight.  A  dead  tree  had 
been  hauled  up  to  the  door,  and  a  man  was  chopping  off 
some  of  the  limbs  for  firewood. 

"You've  been  a  long  time  gone,  Nettie.    It's  almost  dark." 

Not  until  these  words  were  spoken  had  they  noticed  the 
evening  shadows  creeping  stealthily  up  from  the  dark  ra- 
vines, and  settling  quietly  upon  the  hill-tops.  They  took 
no  note  of  time,  and  had  walked  leisurely,  even  slowly,  that 
they  might  enjoy  their  walk  the  longer.  As  Nettie  entered 
the  house,  a  troubled  look  was  on  her  face.  Grace  saw  it, 
and  took  upon  herself  the  blame,  if  any  blame  there  was,  for 
being  detained  so  long. 

The  interior  of  the  house  presented  even  fewer  attractions 
than  the  exterior.  It  was  scantily  furnished,  and  the  family 
room  made  a  receptacle  of  much  that  ought  to  have  been  in 
the  barn. 

Grace  sat  down  on  the  side  of  the  bed,  where  lay  the 
mother  of  the  dead  infant  in  almost  hysterical  paroxysms, 
and  having  apologized  for  their  long  delay,  saying  the  fault 
was  entirely  her  own,  she,  in  her  own  sweet  way,  tried  to 
speak  words  of  consolation  to  the  afflicted  woman. 

"  O,  she's  dead  !  she's  dead  !  she's  gone  !  There's  no  use 
trying  to  persuade  me  it's  all  for  the  best.  I  shall  never  see 
my  darling  baby  again.  I  have  nothing  more  to  live  for 


LIVING   FOR    THOSE   WE   LOVE.  119 

now  she's  taken  away.  I  shall  never  be  myself  again  — 
never,  never  !  Did  you  fetch  the  cloth  for  the  shroud,  Miss 
—  what's-your-name  ?  " 

"  Miss  Pearson,"  said  Nettie. 

"  Yes,  I  ought  to  remember,  for  I've  heard  Nettie  speak 
it  often  enough  for  the  last  day  or  two.  Are  you  any  related 
to  the  Pearsonses  in  Cranesville?  " 

"  None  that  I  know  of.     What  are  their  given  names?" 

"  Well,  there's  'Lijah,  and  Timothy,  and  Joshua,  and  I 
b'lieve  one  or  two  others.  'Lijah  is  a  carpenter,  and  built 
the  meeting-house  at  the  '  Corners,'  and  a  mighty  poor  job  he 
made  of  it,  I've  heard  say.  I  b'lieve  the  other  two  are  farm- 
ers, and  pretty  well  to  do,  though  'pears  to  me  I've  heard 
Tim  was  a  shoemaker ;  hows' ever,  they're  all  very  likely 
folks  —  none  that  you  need  be  ashamed  of." 

"  They  are  not  related  to  me,  I  presume.  My  father  has 
but  two  brothers,  and  they  have  different  names  from  the 
ones  you  mention." 

"  O,  my  poor  baby  !  my  precious  baby !  the  only  comfort 
I  had  !  O,  dear  !  O,  dear  !  I  little  thought  it  would  die  so 
sudden.  You'll  never  know  anything  about  it,  until  you've 
had  one  and  lost  it." 

"  I  have  lost  friends  who  were  very  dear  to  me,"  replied 
Grace  ;  "  and  I  know  how  to  sympathize  with  you.  I  have 
felt  all  the  anguish  which  you  now  feel.  I  know  how  dark 
and  insignificant  the  world  appears  to  you  ;  but  the  consola- 
tions of  the  gospel  dispel  the  gloom  of  the  grave,  and  time 
allays  the  poignancy  of  our  grief.  We  shall  meet  our  loved 
ones  again,  and  that  very  soon.  Death  is  like  our  passing 
from  this  room  into  the  next,  so  very  short  is  our  stay  here. 
It  is  not  worth  while  to  spend  the  time  in  weeping  for  those 
who  have  crossed  the  threshold  of  heaven  before  us.  Our 
dear  ones  will  be  there  to  receive  us,  not  as  we  lay  them 
away  in  the  grave,  but  improved  and  glorified,  until  they 
become  as  the  angels." 


I2O  SELF-MADE,   OR 

Mrs.  Strange  was  evidently  comforted  by  the  kind  words 
of  the  gentle  being  who  strove  to  impress  upon  her  heart 
the  power  and  sublimity  of  those  precious  gospel  promises, 
written  expressly  for  her,  said  Grace,  who  tried,  in  a  simple, 
plain  way,  to  picture  the  beauty  and  brightness  of  a  soul 
casting  off  its  mortality. 

"  God  sends  us  our  trials,  and  in  His  own  good  time  and 
way  He  will  send  the  Comforter,  if  we  only  believe  these 
afflictions  are  sent  us  for  our  good,  and  have  faith  to  say, 
'  Thy  will  be  done.'  Let  me  assist  you  to  rise." 

"  Thank  you,  miss  ;  I'm  quite  accustomed  to  helping  my- 
self; but  I  thin,k  I  will  feel  better  to  get  up.  I  am  most 
wretched  ;  my  head  aches  terribly." 

"  Benny,  don't  do  that :  it  makes  mother's  head  ache," 
Nettie  said,  in  a  mild  tone ;  but  the  wilful  boy  persisted  in 
pounding  on  the  floor  with  a  hammer ;  and  when  gently 
removed  beyond  his  reach,  he  commenced  kicking  with  his 
heels  and  screaming  at  the  top  of  his  voice. 

"  Look  here,  Benny  ;  see  what  I've  got  for  you." 

"  You  hain't  got  nothing." 

"Yes,  I  have.  I've  got  a  nice  red  apple.  Come  and 
get  it." 

"  No,  I  shan't.  I'll  have  the  hammer.  Give  me  the 
hammer." 

"  No,  the  hammer  makes  a  noise ;  and  you  must  keep 
quiet." 

But  little  Benny  was  not  to  be  bought  off,  or  bribed  into 
silence,  as  his  stentorian  lungs  fully  demonstrated. 

"  Ben,  get  up  this  minute,  and  stop  your  crying.  If  you 
would  let  him  alone,  he  wouldn't  be  half  as  bad  as  he  is. 
You're  always  worrying  him  ;  and  you  know,  when  he  gets 
a-going,  there's  no  let  up  to  his  screaming.  Go  into  the  next 
room,  and  get  me  a  clean  cap." 

Grace  saw  the  colour  becoming  deeper  and  deeper  on  Net- 
tie's cheeks,  and  the  drooping  of  her  grave,  quiet  eyes  tolc 


LIVING   FOR   THOSE   WE   LOVE.  121 

of  the  meek  spirit  within.  Nettie  went  quietly  into  the  room 
where  the  body  of  little  Janie  was,  in  obedience  to  her 
mother's  command,  while  the  obstinate  child  climbed  to  the 
top  shelf  of  the  dresser,  and  took  possession  of  the  disputed 
hammer.  His  descent  was  rather  precipitous,  accompanied 
by  a  crash  of  crockery  and  ear-splitting  vociferations.  The 
voice  of  Mrs.  Strange  rose  painfully  above  the  key-note  in 
the  conversation  just  then  commenced  between  Grace  and 
another  lady  present.  They  were  speaking  of  the  funeral, 
and  Grace  was  asking  her  opinion  relative  to  the  making  of 
the  shroud. 

The  mother  testified,  in  language  not  to  be  misunderstood, 
that  hers  were  the  worst-behaved  children  that  ever  lived, 
intimating  that  her  trials  were  not  to  be  spoken  of  to  mortal 
ears,  and  that  her  sudden  outbreak  was  quite  unusual.  She 
adjusted  her  clean  cap  before  the  small  mirror,  and  was  pro- 
ceeding to  settle  herself  comfortably  in  the  arm-chair  by  the 
fire,  when  another  and  similar  accident  happened  to  one  of 
the  children,  which  quite  upset  Mrs.  Strange's  self-control 
and  Grace's  gravity.  A  large  oaken  chest  adorned  one  end 
of  the  room,  over  which  was  suspended  a  monster  bunch  of 
red  peppers ;  and  to  get  at  a  piece  of  twine,  occupying  the 
same  nail,  another  boy  —  and  Benny's  senior  by  two  years  — 
had  climbed  to  the  top  of  the  chest,  using  for  a  ladder  an 
old  chair,  minus  the  splints,  which,  at  one  time  far  back  in 
its  eventful  history,  it  might  have  possessed.  The  little 
piece  of  board  answering  for  a  bottom  —  for  the  present  gen- 
eration's use  —  had  been  removed  by  the  uncompromising 
Benny  while  his  brother  was  reaching  after  the  twine,  and, 
as  might  have  been  expected,  his  descent  was  as  ungraceful 
as  precipitous. 

"Heavens  and  airth !  what's  the  matter  now?  Served 
you  just  right !  You're  always  in  some  mischief,  and  if 
you're  hurt  I'm  glad  of  it !  " 

Grace  smiled  in  spite  of  herself;  not  because  the  angry 


122  SELF-MADE,   OR 

mother  laid  violent  hands  on  the  child,  thereby  augmenting 
the  confusion,  instead  of  staying  it,  but  because  of  the  unique 
and  perfectly  ludicrous  position  of  the  little  hero  of  the  do- 
mestic drama  which  was  being  enacted.  The  tableaux  pre- 
sented a  scene  which,  at  any  other  time,  would  have  provoked 
a  smile  upon  graver  faces  than  those  who  witnessed  it.  Grace 
felt  constrained  to  laugh  at  the  boy's  misfortunes ;  but  her 
risibles^were  held  in  check  when  she  remembered  she  was 
in  the  house  of  mourning  instead  of  the  house  of  mirth. 
The  young  offender  lay  doubled  up  in  a  very  undignified 
and  uncomfortable  attitude  —  the  frame  of  the  chair  impris- 
oning his  limbs  as  effectually  as  though  he  were  in  the 
stocks,  his  hands  and  feet  only  showing  themselves  above 
the  top  round.  It  required  the  assistance  of  two  or  three  to 
extricate  the  unfortunate  lad  from  his  uncomfortable  quar- 
ters. He  clamoured  loudly  for  help,  using  various  expletives 
to  enforce  attention.  Then  followed  loud  and  passionate 
cries,  to  which  Mrs.  Strange  paid  little  or  no  attention,  such 
events  being  of  too  common  occurrence  to  alarm  her. 

Grace  was  beginning  to  expostulate ;  but  she  restrained 
herself,  wishing  to  become  better  acquainted  with  the  influ- 
ences surrounding  her  young  protegee;  for  such  she  would 
fain  consider  Nettie. 

"  Will  you  never  have  done  with  your  screaming  ?  Stop 
this  minute,  or  go  out  o'  doors." 

"  It's  the  pepper  in  my  eyes,  I  tell  you  ! " 

And  the  voluble  notes,  all  strung  in  the  key  major,  rose 
from  grave  to  acute  without  intervals  or  semitones.  Then 
followed  quick  and  sharp  demands  for  water  and  towels, 
which  Nettie  hastened  to  bring  ;  but  the  bathing  and  wiping 
process  only  seemed  to  irritate  instead  of  soothe,  and  the 
passionate  child  screamed  and  shrieked  for  a  full  half  hour 
before  the  paroxysms  ceased. 

A  cloud  settled  on  all  present,  while  Nettie  looked  as 
though  all  the  warm  blood  had  left  her  heart,  and  was 


LIVING   FOR   THOSE    WE   LOVE. 


123 


concentrated  in  her  face.  She  gazed  earnestly  at  Grace, 
as  if  to  read  her  thoughts.  Then  her  eyes  sought  Mrs. 
Miller ;  but  with  what  sadness  did  she  raise  her  eyes  to 
the  face  of  her  mother!  That  face  which  never,  in  its 
pleasantest  aspect,  possessed  anything  very  attractive,  now, 
with  cheek  burning  and  eyes  flashing  under  the  strong  ex- 
citement of  the  moment,  was  terrible.  The  sharp,  thin 
features  wore  a  discouraged  look,  and  their  usual  gravity 
assumed  a  settled,  hopeless  despondency. 

The  uproarious  urchin,  after  much  resistance  on  his  part, 
and  various  and  sundry  threats  and  remonstrances  on  the 
part  of  his  mother,  was  trundled  off  to  bed  with  a  wet  ban- 
dage over  his  eyes,  being  assured  by  Mrs.  Miller  that  this  was 
the  only  way  to  cure  them. 

The  other  children  had  suppers  of  bread  and  milk  served 
in  little  porringers,  and  were  (after  the  same  process  of 
urging  and  threatening  in  case  of  disobedience)  sent  whim- 
pering to  bed. 

"  There,  thank  goodness !  I  hope  we  shall  have  a  little 
peace  now.  I  don't  know  what  it  is  to  have  a  minute's  rest 
when  my  children  are  in  my  sight.  I  shall  be  glad  when 
summer  comes,  so  I  can  turn  them  out  o'  doors  once  more ; 
and  then  I  shall  have  no  little  Janie  to  comfort  me  with  the 
little  pleasant  ways  she  had !  " 

Tears  were  gathering  in  the  woman's  eyes,  and  sobs  choked 
back  the  lamentations  she  would  utter.  She  paid  little  re- 
gard to  the  "  Now  come,  mother,"  "  Don't  fret,  mother,"  with 
which  her  husband  frequently  addressed  her,  but,  at  his 
urgent  request,  seated  herself  in  the  chimney  corner,  and  in 
a  few  moments,  seemingly  unconscious  of  anything  but  her 
pipe,  was  smoking  away  vigorously. 

Another  hour,  and  all  were  seated  around  the  ample 
family  table.  Smoking  viands,  plain,  but  cooked  nicely, 
and  dished  under  Mrs.  Miller's  supervision,  were  bountiful. 
Nettie  had  brought  from  the  bottom  of  the  old  chest  up 


124 


SELF-MADE,   OR 


stairs,  a  clean  table-cloth,  somewhat  yellow  from  having 
lain  long  unused ;  but  the  silver,  and  the  best  knives,  and 
the  shining  tea-tray,  together  with  the  blue  dishes,  taken 
from  the  top  shelf  in  the  pantry,  and  washed  until  they 
looked  like  new,  made  the  repast  really  inviting. 

Mrs.  Miller  said  an  impressive  "  grace,"  and  poured  the 
tea.  Mrs.  Strange  thought  it  —  the  tea  —  a  little  too  strong, 
but,  after  the  third  cup,  said,  "  It's  done  my  head  an  amazing 
sight  of  good." 


LIVING  FOR  THOSE   WE   LOVE.  125 


CHAPTER   XIV. 

MISS  PEARSON  IN  THE  HOUSE  OF  MOURNING. 

"  A  gloomy  home  for  one  like  this  : 
So  pure,  so  gentle,  and  so  fair, 
Must  her  sweet  life  in  weariness 
Go  out  for  lack  of  human  care  ?  " 

ANON. 

OEVER  had  Grace  witnessed  a  domestic  scene  like 
this  ;  and  never  did  the  contrast  between  her  own 
beautiful,  well-ordered  home  and  the  home  of 
Nettie  Strange  seem  so  great ;  and  never  did  she 
so  humbly  thank  God  for  all  His  blessings,  vouchsafed  to  her 
and  hers.  This  unhappy  household  possessed  few  of  the 
blessed  influences  that  rendered  hers  so  bright  and  cheerful. 
The  sweet  recollections  of  her  happy  childhood  brought 
tearful  tributes  ;  and  the  deep  gratitude  which  welled  up 
from  her  heart,  blending  with  the  sweetness  that  always 
rested  there,  made  her  almost  angelic.  All  these  scenes,  and 
many  more  left  unnarrated,  new  and  painful  as  they  were  to 
her,  had  not  the  power  to  quench  that  little  spark  of  affec- 
tionate regard  which  glowed  so  brightly  in  the  breast  of 
Grace.  A  sweet  smile  said,  as  plainly  as  words  could  have 
said,  "  I  love  you,  Nettie,  and  nothing  shall  ever  separate 
our  hearts." 

A  small  fire  is  burning  in  the  "  spare  room,"  where  lies 
the  little  shrouded  form  which  will  ere  to-morrow  this  time 
lie  in  even  a  darker  and  more  desolate  home.  The  room 


126  SELF-MADE,   OR 

is  cold  and  cheerless,  and  scantily  furnished,  in  keeping 
with  the  rest  of  the  apartments. 

Grace,  after  measuring  the  shroud  and  shaping  it  properly, 
folded  it  carefully  and  laid  it  away  until  the  family  should 
retire.  She  had  signified  her  willingness  to  remain  through 
the  night  as  watcher,  if  agreeable  to  Mrs.  Strange.  The 
afflicted  woman,  in  her  own  peculiar  way,  expressed  her 
thanks. 

"  I'm  much  obleeged  to  you,  young  woman,  but  I'm  sorry 
to  trouble  the  like  o'  you  with  watching  all  night  in  this 
cold  barn  of  a  house ;  though,  if  you'll  sit  quite  near  the  fire, 
perhaps  you'll  manage  to  keep  warm.  It  was  one  of  my 
girl's  whims  a  sending  for  you  to  make  the  grave-clothes : 
she's  always  some  queer  notion  or  other  in  her  head.  I  pre- 
sume you're  not  much  used  to  hardships,  by  your  delercate 
looks." 

u  I  am  far  from  being  delicate,  and  by  no  means  consider 
it  a  hardship  to  watch  with  the  sick,  the  dying,  or  the  dead. 
It  is  a  Christian's  duty,  and  should  be  a  pleasure,  not  only  to 
sympathize  with  those  whom  death  has  bereaved,  but  to  aid 
in  those  kind  offices  which,  ere  many  days,  we  may  need 
for  ourselves." 

"  I  didn't  mind  sitting  up  of  a  night  when  I  was  young, 
but  nowadays  it  comes  mighty  hard  on  me  if  I  am  broke  of 
my  rest.  When  you  are  the  mother  of  a  family  like  mine, 
may  be  you'll  be  tired  enough  with  their  fretting  and  teasing, 
through  the  daytime,  to  want  your  rest  when  it  comes 
night." 

"  Very  likely.  As  our  years  increase,  our  cares  increase, 
and  I  do  not  expect  to  pass  through  life  without  my  share 
of  its  vexations  and  trials.  I  do  not  ask  for  myself  perpetual 
sunshine  and  pleasure  ;  I  would  not  fold  my  hands  and  dream 
away  life's  golden  hours.  I  would  rather  know  something 
of  its  sterner  realities,  its  sorrows,  fatigues,  and  perplexities. 
By  these  we  gather  strength  for  future  usefulness,  and  learn 


LIVING  FOR   THOSE   WE   LOVE.  127 

how  to  appreciate  our  blessings,  and  to  meet  with  fortitude 
an}'  reverses  or  misfortunes  that  may  befall  us.  Shall  we 
receive  good  at  the  hand  of  the  Lord,  and  not  evil?  Rather 
let  us  rejoice  that  we  receive  not  all  our  good  things  in 
this  life  —  that  there  are  some  in  reserve  for  us  in  a  life  to 
come." 

"  For  me,  happier  and  better  ones,  I  hope." 

"  Yes,  better  and  happier,  if  that  hope  be  well  founded. 
Who  can  estimate  the  value  of  the  Christian's  hope? — a  hope 
which  can  raise  the  soul  above  the  trials  of  earth,  and  fill  it 
with  joy  and  peace  in  the  dying  hour." 

Mrs.  Strange  lifted  the  corner  of  her  apron,  and  wiped 
away  the  drops  of  genuine  sorrow  that  coursed  down  her 
cheeks.  And  when  Grace  inquired  affectionately  concerning 
the  hope  of  the  Christian  in  its  relation  to  her  own  heart,  she 
responded  tearfully,  — 

"  I  fear  I  am  without  it.  Once,  when  I  was  no  older  than 
you  are,  I  thought  I  got  religion  at  a  quarterly  meeting,  and 
joined  the  church.  It  was  an  easy  matter  for  me  to  live 
religion  then  to  what  it  is  now.  I  had  a  good  mother,  and 
we  allers  had  prayers  in  the  family  ;  but  after  my  father  died, 
I  had  to  go  away  from  home  to  live,  and  sometimes  not 
among  the  best  of  folks  either.  I  was  married  the  second 
year  of  my  living  out,  and  I  soon  forgot  all  about  my 
religion.  I  had  so  much  to  do,  and  the  young  ones  began 
to  multiply,  and  I  became  so  cross  and  fretful  I  was  ashamed 
to  say  I  was  a  Christian,  —  Nett,  go  along  about  your  work  ; 
you're  allers  a  listening,  —  and  then  I  thought  there  was  no 
use  trying  any  more  to  be  good." 

Grace  improved  this  opportunity  to  impress  upon  Mrs. 
Strange  the  importance  of  the  religion  she  once  professed. 
Especially  as  a  mother  she  needed  grace  and  the  guidance 
of  the  Holy  Spirit  to  enable  her  to  train  for  heaven  the 
little  immortals  intrusted  to  her  care. 

"  You  left  the  cross,  my  dear  Mrs.  .Strange,  just  where  you 


128  SELF-MADE,   OR 

ought  to  have  taken  it  up ;  and  just  when  you  needed  most 
the  sweet  consolations  of  the  Christian's  hope,  you  suffered 
it  to  die  out,  and  an  indifference  to  and  a  disregard  of  God's 
holy  law  to  take  its  place." 

Mrs.  Strange  bowed  her  head  in  silent  acquiescence.  She 
knew  Miss  Pearson  was  right. 

"  And  as  for  these  sad  and  sore  trials,"  Grace  continued, 
"  God  knows  that  uninterrupted  happiness  here  would  not 
prepare  us  for  our  future  destiny  ;  and  so  He  mercifully  sends 
affliction.  O,  I  wrell  remember  when  the  first  dark  shadow 
fell  upon  my  sunny  world.  To  my  stricken  heart  it  seemed 
as  though  the  sun  of  my  life  had  gone  down  never  to  rise 
again,  and  that  a  dark  night,  rayless  and  hopeless,  in  which 
I  was  to  walk  forever  alone,  was  to  be  my  future.  But  I 
sought  for  faith  where  faith  was  never  denied ;  and  now  I 
look  back  with  many  tears  of  gratitude,  not  because  my 
mother  was  taken  from  me,  but  because  the  severe  dispensa- 
tion was  made  the  means,  under  God,  of  bringing  me  to  seek 
His  grace,  which  bringeth  salvation.  I  was  favorably  dis- 
posed towards  religion,  and  felt  the  necessity  of  professing  it, 
and  promised  myself  at  some  future  time  to  make  preparation 
for  a  dying  day  ;  yet  eighteen  years  of  my  life  glided  away 
without  a  saving  knowledge  of  Christ.  God  employs  various 
ways  to  bring  sinners  to  the  foot  of  the  cross,  and  there  is 
nothing  in  them  that  is  unreasonable.  In  kindness  and 
mercy  are  our  loved  ones  taken  from  us.  Believe  this,  my 
dear  friend  :  it  is  meant  only  for  good  ;  and  let  me  ask  you 
to  make  this  sad  occasion  a  time  for  solemn  thought  and 

O 

heart-felt  repentance.  Weep  not  for  your  dead  baby.  It 
lives  with  the  angels ;  but  weep  and  pray  for  the  living,  for 
they  are  still  subject  to  sin  and  temptation." 

"  O,  what  shall  I  do? "  sobbed  the  poor,  heart-broken  wo- 
man, while  tears  chased  each  other  down  her  cheeks. 

"  Do  this  first :  return  to  that  slighted  Saviour,  and  lay  a 
contrite  heart  upon  God's  altar;  so  shall  your  peace  be 


LIVING   FOR   THOSE   WE   LOVE.  1 29 

as  a  river ;  and  when  death  again  visits  your  household, 
and  troubles  come  heavier  and  heavier,  you  will  have  the 
beautiful  and  holy  religion  of  Christ  to  aid  and  comfort 
you,  and  His  precious  promises  to  bind  up  the  broken 
heart." 

Grace  sat  with  one  arm  thrown  around  the  weeping 
woman.  She  had  become  strangely  interested  in  her,  and 
out  of  the  fulness  of  her  sorrow  and  sympathy  tears  had 
come ;  and  yet  they  were  tears  of  joy,  for  a  light  seemed 
dawning  in  upon  that  darkened,  sin-stricken  conscience, 
and  Grace  prayed  for  the  cloud  to  be  rolled  away. 

Nettie  had  taken  no  part  in  the  conversation.  She 
dared  hardly  hear  it,  after  her  mother's  sharp  reproof;  but 
how  could  she  help  it?  She  glided  noiselessly  about  the 
room,  assisting  with  the  work  after  supper,  and  listened 
earnestly  to  the  sweet  words  that  dropped  like  honey-dew 
from  the  lips  of  the  angel  friend  at  her  mother's  side.  They 
came  to  her  like  a  new  gospel,  like  good  tidings  of  good : 
to  her  lonely  heart  they  were  new  life  ;  to  her  timid,  shrink- 
ing nature,  faith,  and  strength,  and  hope. 

How  beautiful  religion  looked  to  her !  and  how  she  ex- 
alted those  who,  like  Grace,  practised  what  they  professed  ! 
O,  if  her  mother  were  only  a  Christian,  what  might  she 
not  hope  for  herself!  Then  she  might  hope  all  things. 
Then —  ah,  what  a  well-spring  of  happiness  seemed  opened 
in  their  dwelling  at  the  very  thought. 

There  were  tears,  too,  in  the  father's  eyes.  Nettie  saw 
them  drop,  as  he  buried  his  head  in  his  hands,  and  listened 
silently  to  the  words  of  their  young  guest.  He  remembered 
with  sorrow  his  own  estrangement  from  the  path  of  recti- 
tude, and  with  something  of  the  old  bitterness  did  he  recall 
the  indignation  and  contempt  with  which  his  first  deviation 
from  that  path  was  met.  There  was  small  sympathy  be- 
tween himself  and  his  wife.  They  had  ever  few  thoughts 
or  feelings  in  common.  An  indifference  and  coldness — -to 
9 


130  SELF-MADE,    OR 

call  it  by  no  worse  name  —  had  long  since  succeeded  the 
attachment  of  their  early  life.  They  had  loved  mutually  ; 
the  estrangement  that  followed  was  mutual.  Their  few 
joys  had  been  mutually  shared,  but  until  now  they  had  never 
had  any  great  grief  to  share  together.  Now,  as  they  stood 
by  the  grave's  brink,  and  the  shadow  of  their  mutual  sorrow 
gathered  darkly  around  them,  the  iron  that  entered  their 
souls  was  forged  into  links,  to  bind  their  hearts  together 
again,  and  both  to  Christ.  Their  hearts  were  softened,  now 
that  death  had  crossed  their  threshold,  and  as  they  sat  to- 
gether in  the  gloom.  Each  hoped  the  other  would  feel  and 
understand  the  sorrow,  and  speak  words  that  were  com- 
forting and  forgiving.  Each  felt  there  was  now  a  sti'onger 
tie  of  sympathy  than  otherwise  they  could  have  known  in 
their  whole  existence.  Aside  from  their  present  affliction, 
memory  was  busy  at  the  heart-strings  of  each.  Memory 
took  them  away  back,  and  unfolded  to  their  gaze  a  little- 
altar  reared  beside  their  humble  hearth-stone,  where  they 
had  offered,  in  child-like  faith  and  simplicity,  their  morning 
and  evening  sacrifice.  At  their  setting  out  in  life,  a  little 
"  grace  "  had  been  said  at  their  table  ;  but  as  the  meals  came 
three  times  a  day,  and  were  always  eaten  in  a  hurry,  and  cares 
multiplied,  and  the  days  grew  too  short  for  the  accomplish- 
ment of  their  allotted  tasks,  it  was  sometimes  neglected,  and 
finally  omitted  altogether. 

Work  and  toil,  fret  and  scold,  from  morning  till  night, 
and  from  year's  end  to  year's  end,  was  the  order  of  their 
individual  existence.  But  somehow,  with  all  their  united 
industry  and  economy,  they  went  forward  very  slowly.  It 
is  true,  the  mortgage  of  five  hundred  dollars,  which  covered 
the  place  when  purchased  by  Mr.  Strange,  had  been  lifted, 
and  not  a  penny  was  now  due  thereon.  He  thought  he  had 
done  remarkably  well  to  pay  for  his  land,  to  say  nothing  of 
the  improvements.  The  first  two  or  three  crops  of  grain 
were  as  good  as  the  best,  the  young  orchard  yielded  a  small 


LIVING   FOR    THOSE    WE   LOVE.  13! 

income,  and  altogether  they  were  prosperous.  But  for  the 
last  three  or  four  years  things  had  sadly  changed.  The 
step  of  either  was  no  longer  elastic,  and  any  amount  of 
wrinkles  and  gray  hairs  had  taken  the  place  of  the  roseate 
hue  of  youth  and  health,  and  an  everlasting  expression  of 
care  and  discouragement  settled  upon  the  brow  of  each. 

There  had  no  great  affliction  visited  them.  Their  cattle 
increased,  and  their  crops  were  as  good  as  their  neighbours' ; 
but  they  had  overtasked  their  energies,  and  their  ambition 
had  died. 

"  He  never  found  time  to  fix  up  the  house,  or  make  a 
garden,  or  do  things,  like  other  folks,"  so  Mrs.  Strange  would 
say ;  and  this  gave  abundant  occasion  for  reproof  and  a 
settled  habit  of  fault-finding,  until  ill  temper  became  a  part 
of  her  nature. 

No  one  in  Sorreltown  knew  that  there  had  ever  been  a 
family  altar  in  Mr.  Strange's  house  ;  the  ruins  were  left  in 
their  early  home,  where  the  shrew  tongue  of  Mrs.  Strange 
took  its  first  lessons  in  reproach.  Their  neighbours  only 
knew  them  as  they  were  now,  save  that  each  year  matters 
had  gone  on  from  bad  to  worse,  until  they  were  well  nigh  as 
bad  as  they  could  be  — :  as  Mrs.  Strange  frequently  asserted. 

No  one  thought  of  them,  or  spoke  of  them,  as  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Strange  :  it  was  "  old  Pete,"  or  "  Uncle  Pete  Strange  ; "  while 
Mrs.  Strange  was  hardly  known  other  than  as  "Aunt 
Eunice."  Not  that  they  were  so  old,  but  they  "  were  such 
queer  people,"  folks  said. 


SELF-MADE,    OR 


CHAPTER    XV. 

THE  WATCHERS  IN  THE  DARKENED   COTTAGE. 

"  Hers  was  the  brow,  in  trials  unperplexed, 
That  cheered  the  sad  and  tranquillized  the  vexed ; 
She  studied  not  the  meanest  to  eclipse, 
And  jet  the  wisest  listened  to  her  lips." 

CAMPBELL. 


HE  wind  moaned  and  sighed,  as  it  surged  arouad 
the  silent  old  house  all  that  long,  starless  night, 
shaking  the  loose  clapboards  and  the  rickety 
window-frames,  and  sometimes  making  the  whole 
house  tremble,  as  some  long,  low  wail,  more  dismal  than 
the  rest,  sent  its  dying  echoes  to  the  heart,  filling  it  with  a 
nameless  dread.  There  was  neither  hill  nor  forest  to  inter- 
cept the  meanings  of  the  winds. 

The  house  was  left  to  the  two  lone  watchers,  who  sat  by 
the  dim  firelight  —  Mark  and  Grace;  and  though  a  shadow 
lay  upon  their  hearts,  it  was  a  sweet  and  holy  awe,  a  sad 
but  pleasant  duty,  and  each  felt  a  secret  pleasure  in  having 
none  others  near. 

Nettie  had  sobbed  herself  to  sleep  in  Grace's  arms,  after 
many  fruitless  attempts  to  shake  off  her  drowsiness  ;  but  she 
was  so  tired,  poor  thing,  and  the  night  was  so  long !  Mark 
drew  up  the  long  family  cradle  close  to  the  fire,  and  made 
her  a  little  bed,  covering  her  with  Grace's  warm  shawl. 
She  begged  to  remain  with  them.  She  could  not  bear  to 
go  to  the  cold,  dark  attic'alone  ;  and  not  until  the  little  white 
shroud  was  finished  and  laid  away  did  she  show  any  signs 
of  weariness. 


LIVING   FOR   THOSE   WE   LOVE  133 

Grace  drew  her  gently  to  her  side,  soothed  her  sad  heart 
to  rest  with  her  low,  sweet,  musical  words,  such  as  might 
drop  from  the  lips  of  a  dream-angel ;  and,  indeed,  Grace 
was  the  angel  of  her  dreams  for  many  years  after  the  sweet 
Eden-vision  of  that  night  had  fled ;  and  the  spirit-deeps 
revealed  to  the  woman-dreamer  something  of  the  mysteri- 
ous power  of  sympathy  and  love. 

Grace  was  the  first  to  break  the  silence  that  was  becoming 
protracted.  She  drew  her  chair  nearer  the  fire  as  Mark 
piled  on  the  fagots,  and  while  the  blaze  lasted  a  quiet 
smile  might  have  been  seen  on  their  two  handsome  faces. 
The  goodness  of  their  hearts  illumined  their  cheeks  like  rus- 
set roses,  and  a  close  scrutiny  would  have  disclosed  a  look  of 
extreme  satisfaction  that  they  two  were  at  last  alone.  And 
yet  the  form  sleeping  at  their  feet  seemed  in  some  way  a 
connecting  link  in  the  chain  of  thought,  which  led  them 
onward  over  life's  uneven  pathway,  always  together,  they 
three,  until,  in  the  vague  future,  where  white  hairs  blend  with 
love's  endearments,  and  tottering  footsteps  walk  thoughtfully 
the  silent,  solemn  shore,  they  recall  the  past  as  a  pleasant 
dream. 

Each  offers  a  voiceless  prayer  for  the  well-being  of  that 
sleeper.  "  Whatever  be  my  fate,  may  she  be  blessed," 
is  the  burden  borne  by  the  recording  angel  to  the  book  on 
high. 

"  I  know  not  why  it  is,  but  I  have  taken  a  strange  interest 
in  that  child,"  said  Grace,  musingly,  and  with  her  eyes  fixed 
attentively  upon  Nettie  as  she  slept.  "  Never  in  my  life 
have  I  known  one  so  young  and  yet  so  thoughtful,  and  pos- 
sessing intelligence  and  graces  that  would  qualify  her  for  a 
different  sphere  than  the  one  which  she  is  likely  to  occu- 
py. I  shall  be  very  happy  in  having  so  loveable  a  friend  as 
she  is." 

"  She  is  very  sweet-tempered  and  amiable,  and  you  will 
become  more  fond  of  her  as  you  know  more  of  her,  poor 


1^4  SELF-MADE,    OR 

thing,"  said  Mark,  lowering  his  voice  to  a  confidential 
whisper.  "  She  seems  so  unlike  the  rest  of  the  family ! 
There  is  none  of  their  rudeness  and  selfishness  in  her  dis- 
position. There  is  such  a  difference  in  her  sweet,  pretty 
voice  and  the  harsh  tones  of  the  others !  It  always  makes 
me  very  happy  when  I  hear  any  one  praising  her." 

"  You  are  a  great  favourite  of  hers,  I  think." 

Mark's  face  brightened,  and  he  looked  gratefully  towards 
the  young  lady  for  saying  so  much ;  but  he  never  thought 
she  regarded  him  as  a  favourite. 

"  My  mother  loves  her  very  dearly,  and  I  have  often 
thought  how  happy  I  should  be  had  I  a  sister  like  Nettie. 
You  will  think  of  her  sometimes  when  you  are  gone?" 

"  Very  often,"  answered  Grace,  bending  over  the  cradle, 
and  imprinting  a  kiss  upon  the  unconscious  sleeper. 

"  A  few  days  and  I  shall  be  at  home  again ;  but  my 
thoughts  will  often  find  a  resting-place  within  these  walls, 
and  I  fear  they  will  not  be  such  as  to  afford  me  much 
pleasure ;  but  I  shall  pray  the  good  Shepherd  of  Israel  to 
feed  this  little  lamb,  and  so  to  temper  the  winds  that  they 
visit  not  her  fair  cheeks  too  roughly,  or  blast  her  earthly 
happiness.  You  will  see  her  often,  and  I  hope  you  will 
speak  such  words  of  encouragement  as  will  cheer  her  on- 
ward in  the  path  of  duty.  I  envy  you  the  happiness  of  liv- 
ing so  near  her.  Were  this  privilege  mine,  I  think  I  could 
sometimes  soothe  and  strengthen  her  when  her  heart  fails 
her ;  and  perhaps,"  she  added,  hesitatingly,  "  I  might  ben- 
efit them  all.  What  an  unhappy  family  they  are  ! " 

Mark  responded  thoughtfully,  almost  tearfully,  when  al- 
luding to  them ;  but  when  he  came  to  that  part  of  a  long 
sentence  which  told  of  his  own  contemplated  absence  from 
the  home  of  his  boyhood,  he  quite  broke  down,  without 
having  given  Grace  any  definite  idea  as  to  the  expediency 
of  his  departure. 

He  felt  uneasy  under  the  gaze  of  those  large,  lustrous  eyes, 


LIVING   FOR   THOSE   WE   LOVE.  135 

which  seemed  to  read  to  the  innermost  every  thought  of  his 
heart ;  and  yet  he  appeared  to  be  watching  eagerly  for  a  reply. 
He  told  his  story  in  few  words,  and  Grace  became  an  in- 
terested listener.  When  he  came  to  speak  of  leaving  his 
mother,  her  face  lost  much  of  that  ready  sympathy  which  at 
first  so  inspii'ed  her  with  a  hope  of  his  success. 

She  was  dissatisfied.  He  could  see  that  by  the  ominous 
cloud  gathering  on  her  serene  face.  The  averted  eye,  the 
look  of  pensive  sadness,  and  the  plainly  perceptible  frown 
which  followed,  all  gave  evidence  of  her  disapproval. 

A  pang  shot  through  Mark's  heart,  and  his  face,  too,  grew 
dark  and  thoughtful.  For  the  moment  he  felt,  rather  than 
incur  the  displeasure  of  the  dear  lady  who  was  so  interested 
for  himself  and  Nettie,  he  would  forego  his  cherished  pur- 
pose. She  did  not  know  nor  dream  of  the  power  and 
influence  a  look  or  tone  of  hers  might  exert,  or  the  pain 
and  anguish  it  might  cost  another. 

Grace  mused  a  few  moments,  seemingly  absorbed  in  ear- 
nest thought.  Then  her  eyes  roved  abstractedly  about  the 
cheerless  room,  as  if  to  give  the  doubts  that  pressed  hard 
upon  each  other  ample  scope.  At  last  they  assumed  an 
expression  of  deep  and  earnest  pathos,  as  they  sought,  in- 
quiringly, in  the  face  before  her,  to  know  whether  her 
thoughts  were  not  vastly  extravagant  ones.  There  was 
something  in  that  shining  eye,  which,  to  Grace's  compre- 
hensive vision,  said  a  fire  might  slumber  there,  even  the 
fire  of  genius,  were  it  not  extinguished  ere  it  was  fanned  to 
a  flame. 

Both  were  aroused  from  their  fit  of  dreamy  abstraction 
by  the  blackened  forestick  snapping  in  twain.  The  charred 
ends,  having  cleared  the  broken  andirons,  forced  themselves 
into  notice  by  rolling  half  way  across  the  homely  and  uneven 
hearth.  Mark's  skill  in  fire-mending  was  put  to  the  severest 
test,  for  the  only  implement  at  hand  was  an  iron  poker,  and 
the  incorrigible  brands  persisted  in  tumbling  about  at  will. 


136  SELF-MADE,   OR 

At  length,  after  sundry  awkward  manoeuvres,  he  gained  his 
point.  The  obstinate  fagots  were  made  to  lie  precisely  as 
Mark  wanted  them  to,  his  own  pertinacity  being  more  than 
equal  to  theirs.  Soon  the  struggling  blaze  circled  around 
and  high  above  the  smouldering  logs,  shedding  cheerfulness 
and  warmth  through  the  darkened  room. 

They  sat  silently  a  while,  both  busy  with  their  own 
thoughts  ;  and  then  Grace  said,  in  a  glad,  certain  tone,  — 

"  Success  and  a  prosperous  future  should  be  yours ;  you 
deserve  it.  You  have  a  determined  will,  I  see ;  and  if  the 
mending  of  that  fire  be  any  proof  of  a  brave  spirit,  yours 
would  not  quail  before  almost  any  obstacle.  With  only  that 
old  crooked  poker  to  work  with,  not  one  in  a  thousand 
would  have  accomplished  what  you  have  in  so  short  a  time ; 
and  see  the  cheerful  sparkling  light  which  those  blackened 
brands  emit !  It  is  a  good  omen,  Mark." 

"  And  I  suppose  you  sat  there  laughing  slyly  at  my  awk- 
ward attempts ;  though  you  should  not  have  done  so,  for,  as 
you  say,  I  laboured  under  extreme  disadvantages." 

"  Therein  lies  the  merit.  I  could  have  done  it  myself 
with  a  good  pair  of  tongs,  and  — " 

"  A  little  assistance,"  interrupted  Mark.  "  Those  great 
brands  would  have  been  heavy  lifting  for  you  alone."  . 

"  You  deserve  credit  for  your  perseverance,  at  least,"  said 
Grace,  pushing  back  her  chair  from  the  blazing  fire. 

"Well,  I  knew  I  could  do  it;  but  I  might  take  hold  of 
something  else  with  less  experienced  hands,  and  yet  a  greater 
energy.  There  is  not  half  the  zest  where  there  are  neither 
doubts  nor  fears  as  to  the  result." 

"  Said  like  a  true,  brave  heart !  " 

"  The  easiest  path  does  not  often  lead  to  the  goal  of  our 
hopes.  Our  aspirations  may  be  ever  so  great,  but  if  we  turn 
aside  from  every  shadow,  or  are  scared  away  by  the  frown- 
ing rocks  on  the  top  of  which  our  feet  must  be  planted  firm 
and  strong,  our  lives  might  be  spent  ere  we  caught  one 


LIVING  FOR   THOSE   WE   LOVE.  137 

bright  flash  of  the  shining  light  far  beyond  us.  It  were 
better,  I  think,  to  be  forever  striving  and  toiling  for  some 
good  unattained,  than  to  have  no  ambition  and  no  energy, 
content  to  toil  on  in  the  daily  treadmill  of  life  to  which 
society  confines  the  ignorant  and  the  unaspiring." 

Mark  never  raised  his  eyes  from  the  fire  during,  this 
speech.  He  seemed  to  be  climbing  a  mountain  path  with- 
out pausing  to  take  a  parting  glance  at  the  boon  companion 
by  his  side,  who  had  shaded  it  so  fearfully,  and  yet  so  hope- 
fully. His  thoughts  went  on  and  on,  until  he  dreamed  over 
again  his  old,  wild  dreams,  and  the  cloud  in  which  he  had 
hitherto  been  lost  was  now  rolled  away,  or  silvered  over  so 
beautifully  as  even  to  light  his  way  onward.  He  would  not 
be  the  one  to  dream  idly  at  the  foot  of  the  cliff.  Whatever 
work  there  was  for  him  to  do,  must  be  commenced.  Now 
was  the  time ;  delay  might  blunt  the  keen  desire  to  rise 
above  his  life  of  poverty  and  mere  bodily  labour. 

".I  am  poor  in  heart  as  well  as  in  means,"  thought  he. 
"  I  have  no  society.  I  want  the  companionship  of  the  good 
and  the  intellectual.  Why  can  I  not  have  it?  I  can  !  and  I 
will ! " 

There  was  a  half-resolute,  half-doubting  look  on  Mark's 
face,  and  a  tear  stood  trembling  in  his  eyes  —  at  least  Grace 
thought  so.  They  shone  and  glistened  so  like  two  stars ! 
She  broke  in  upon  his  protracted  reverie  by  asking,  "  Does 
the  picture,  over  which  you  have  been  dreaming  for  the  last 
quarter  of  an  hour,  appear  like  some  visionary  sketch  ?  Be- 
fore we  adopt  a  plan  we  should  consider  its  feasibility.  I 
confess  I  should  make  a  very  inefficient  guide,  though  I 
could  say,  '  Go  on,'  and  '  up ; '  yet  to  lead  the  way  over 
many  difficulties  is  quite  a  different  thing.  You  spoke  of 
making  Albany  your  starting-point.  Have  you  any  definite 
plans  formed?  If  I  could  aid  you  in  any  way  —  " 

"  It  is  the  starting-point  that  troubles  me.  I  have  no 
acquaintances  in  Albany ;  but  Mr.  Sloper  will  give  me  let- 


138  SELF-MADE,    OR 

ters  to  Governor  Worth,  who  is  an  old  friend  of  his,  and  to 
his  daughter,  Mrs.  Loveland ;  and  since  I  know  you,"  said 
he,  hesitatingly,  "  I  shall  not  feel  quite  alone." 

"  May  I  ask  of  you  one  favour,  Mark  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  a  dozen  !  a  thousand  !  " 

"  But  I  want  you  to  promise  that  you  will  grant  what  I 
ask." 

"  Put  the  question  first." 

"  No,  the  promise  first." 

"  Well,  then,  yes.  I  am  not  afraid  to  promise  you  any- 
thing, so  it  does  not  interfere  with  my  leaving  home." 

"  No  ;  it  is  not  that.  I  would  go  if  I  were  you  ;  but  it  is 
this :  Will  you  call  on  me  immediately  on  your  arrival  in 
the  city?  I  will  give  you  my  address,  and  if  ever  you  see 
the  time  when  you  are  in  trouble,  or  in  want,  —  if  you  fail 
in  your  expectations,  and  should  need  a  friend, — will  you 
come  to  me,  as  you  would  go  to  your  mother,  or  a  sister,  if 
you  had  one?" 

"  What  an  angel  you  are  !  "  was  just  on  Mark's  lips  ;  but 
he  checked  the  words  in  time,  and  said,  — 

"  O,  Miss  Pearson  !  You  are  too  kind ;  but  I  fear  you 
would  not  be  very  proud  of  your  newly-found  country  ac- 
quaintance. I  shall  occupy  but  a  very  humble  position  in 
society.  If  I  can  only  find  something  to  do,  I  shall  not 
come  to  want ;  never  fear  that  —  " 

"  But  remember,  I  have  your  promise." 

"  It  shall  be  sacredly  kept." 


LIVING  FOR   THOSE  WE   LOVE.  139 


CHAPTER    XVI. 
MARK    LEAVES    HOME. 

"  Gird  your  hearts  with  silent  fortitude. 
Suffering,  yet  hoping  all  things." 

MRS.  HEMANS. 

HE  funeral  was  over.  Time  passed,  and  Grace, 
after  having  made  to  herself  many  warm  personal 
friends  within  our  little  community,  had  returned 
home.  Helen  accompanied  her,  to  remain  another 
term  at  Madame  Devine's  seminary,  and  Sam  was  at  his  old 
post  behind  his  father's  counter. 

It  was  now  spring.  The  snow  began  to  melt,  the  ice  on 
the  pond  gave  signs  of  a  general  "  breaking  up  "  of  winter  ; 
so  there  were  no  more  sleigh-rides,  or  skating  frolics,  or 
parties  ;  and  all  declared  the  spring  was  coming  in  early. 

Soon  the  woods  and  plains  were  laden  with  their  usual 
floral  wealth.  The  peach-blossoms,  like  generous  emotions 
in  a  large  heart,  had  burst  into  fragrance  and  beauty  ;  the 
daffodils,  peonies,  and  snow-balls  were  in  full  bloom.  The 
bees  were  the  first  to  make  the  discovery,  and  were  hard  at 
work  improving  the  hours  of  sunshine,  bearing  home  upon 
their  well-laden  thighs  the  rich  treasures  of  these  earliest 
heralds  of  approaching  summer. 

Mark  was  just  as  busy  as  they,  preparing  to  leave  home 
as  soon  as  circumstances  would  permit ;  and  every  beat 
of  his  heart,  and  every  stroke  of  his  hand,  conspired  to  this 
one  end. 


140  SELF-MADE,    OR 

His  mother  seconded  his  noble  purpose,  and  from  herown- 
scanty  means  supplied  him  with  several  small  bills,  which 
would  relieve  him  from  immediate  want  should  he  fail  in 
his  expectations.  The  vague  apprehension,  the  painfully 
anxious  look,  with  which  that  purpose  was  first  recognized, 
were  now  no  more.  Mrs.  Miller  was  even  cheerful  in  Mark's 
presence,  as  she  sewed  industriously,  or  assisted  in  those 
lighter  out-door  labours  which  would  the  sooner  hasten  his 
departure. 

His  scanty  wardrobe  was  packed  by  his  mother's  careful 
hand  in  a  little  valise,  which  his  good  friend  Deacon  Sloper 
had  given  him  ;  the  promised  letters,  "  sealed  and  signed," 
snugly  tucked  in  one  corner,  wrapped  carefully  in  a  bundle 
of  linen,  for  fear  of  their  being  crumpled,  or  soiled  by  the 
few  cakes  which  comprised  a  part  of  his  outfit.  He  had 
taken  leave  of  that  excellent  man  and  his  wife,  who  gave 
him  their  blessing  and  many  friendly  warnings,  interspersed 
with  kind  advice,  such  as  was  most  likely  to  encourage  the 
young  adventurer  in  the  way  of  right-living  and  sin- 
shunning. 

The  pledge,  long  ago  given,  that  his  mother  should  be  as 
one  of  their  own  household,  was  renewed  with  much  ear- 
nestness, and  all  three  wept  when  the  parting  moment 
came. 

"  The  recollection  that  I  left  my  mother  with  such  good 
friends  will  be  my  chief  source  of  happiness  during  my  long 
absence,  and  the  trials  that  may  overtake  me,"  were  his  last 
words  to  them.  "  God  bless  you,  sir."  •,,. 

"  God  bless  you." 

"Very   little   could   Mark   say   to   comfort   his   mother; 
indeed,"  said  dear  aunt  Bessie,  tearfully,  whom,  for  many 
evenings,  I  had  not  interrupted  with  questions,  seeing  they ; 
were  prohibited,  "we  will  say  as  little  as  possible  about 
their  leave-taking.     They  kissed  many  times,  and  wept  anc 


LIVING   FOR    THOSE    WE   I-OVE.  14! 

prayed  together ;  and  Mark,  with  his  heart  well  nigh  broken, 
started  on  his  journey." 

"  I  shall  not  be  so  far  away  but  a  letter,  in  case  of  sickness 
or  any  trouble,  will  bring  me  to  your  side  at  once.  Be 
cheerful,  mother,  when  I  am  gone ;  and  my  father's  God 
protect  us  both  until  we  meet  again." 

He  was  gone !  gone  out  into  the  early  daylight,  which 
just  began  to  cast  its  brightness  in  at  the  windows  —  gone 
out  into  the  great  world  alone,  with  only  his  own  feeble  arm 
to  battle  with  stern  fate  !  Alone  !  God  and  he  only  ! 

Early  inured  to  a  life  of  toil  and  privation,  educated  to 
rely  solely  upon  his  own  efforts  as  a  passport  to  indepen- 
dence, his  was  the  very  nature  to  cope  manfully  with  the  foils 
of  Fortune.  That  same  Fortune  had  bequeathed  to  him  a 
glorious  dower  —  health,  energy,  and  ambition,  with  all  those 
higher  faculties,  honor,  integrity,  Christian  virtue,  and  an 
intellect  daily  strengthened  and  enlarged. 

If  ever  there  was  a  nature  free  from  the  taint  of  self- 
ishness and  arrogance,  —  if  ever  one  utterly  void  of  that 
cold,  calculating,  worldly  wisdom  which  robs  the  heart 
of  all  its  generous  impulses,  and  checks  its  nobler  and 
holier  aspirations, —  it  was  Mark's  ;  kind,  sensitive,  truthful, 
with  a  hand  open  to  every  distress,  a  heart  full  of  kindness 
and  charity  to  all. 

As  Mark  was  not  ignorant  of  religion,  he  believed  there 
was  a  Being  above  who  cared  for  him,  and  who  would 
direct  his  footsteps  in  whatever  path  it  was  best  he  should 
go  ;  that  He  alone  could  bless  this  present  undertaking,  and 
he  thought  it  worth  while  to  ask  that  Being's  blessing  upon 
it ;  he  knew  it  were  vain  to  put  forth  his  strength  unless 
aided  by  Him  to  whom  all  power  belongs,  —  that  those 
"  powers  of  acquisition  and  giving  were  direct  mercies  from 
Heaven." 

Disappointments  he  might  have,  and  did  have,  but  they 


1^2  SELF-MADE,    OR 

were  only  such  as  nerved  a  brave  and  cheerful  spirit  to 
greater  self-reliance  and  more  heroic  action.  Of  sorrow  he 
had  had  his  share,  but  not  those  deep  sorrows  of  the  -heart 
which  blast  a  man's  ambition,  and  leave  him  helpless  at 
the  foot  of  the  long,  rugged  hill  over  which  his  pathway 
lies.  And  though  he  did  not  lay  claim  to  much  knowledge 
in  the  school  of  experience,  still  he  did  not  feel  quite  like  the 
school-boy  sallying  forth,  Primer  in  hand,  to  con  over  his 
first  letter  of  the  alphabet.  The  first  page  had  been  well 
learned,  and  the  lesson  had  left  its  sad  impress  upon  his 
young  heart.  A  new  leaf  was  now  turned  over,  and  Mark 
was  elated  that  the  chapter  commenced  so  fair.  God  would 
dictate  the  conclusion,  and  he  gave  his  life  into  His  hands,  as 
unto  a  wise  Father,  believing  that  all  things  would  work 
together  for  his  good. 

The  strong  current  which  wafted  him  towards  new  ob- 
jects did  not  carry  him  away  from  the  early  lessons  of 
piety  he  had  learned  at  his  mother's  knee.  These  were 
they  that  still  softened  those  other  stern  life-lessons,  and 
made  them,  if  not  pleasant,  at  least  endurable  tasks.  She 
had  taught  him  on  whom  to  rely  for  strength  when  a 
dark  hour  came,  and  these  early  remembrances,  he  felt 
sure,  would  not  be  effaced  by  new  thoughts  and  associa- 
tions ;  and  he  prayed  the  God  of  his  youth  to  be  the  God 
of  his  manhood. 

To  part  with  an  only  child  for  a  length  of  time  is  indeed 
a  trial  for  any  mother  ;  but  to  Mrs.  Miller  it  came  with  more 
than  ordinary  bitterness.  She  thought  not  of  her  increasing 
cares  ;  she  thought  only  of  the  loneliness  of  each.  She  knew 
Mark  would  suffer  as  much  alone  in  the  great  world  outside, 
as  she  by  her  desolate  hearth-stone.  Alone  at  table,  alone 
at  the  morning's  worship,  alone  at  the  twilight  hour,  when 
he  always  came  (his  merry  song  heralding  his  approach) 
with  a  pleasant  word  to  greet  her  ear,  or  an  eager  hand 
put  forth  to  lighten  her  daily  toil.  Ah,  she  felt  there  were 
sorrows  deeper  than  those  of  poverty  or  insult. 


LIVING    FOR    THOSE   WE    LOVE.  143 

The  thought  of  meeting,  after  a  long  separation,  brought 
a  painful  throb  with  it.  Would  Mark  be  the  same  gentle, 
pure-minded  being  when  the  genial  atmosphere  of  home 
no  longer  surrounded  him?  Would  his  face  be  the  same? 
And  his  heart — now  in  her  keeping  —  the  same  trusting, 
confiding  heart,  beating  only  for  her?  Would  his  sympa- 
thies, principles,  tastes,  and  habits,  which  she  trained  and 
watched  with  such  tender  care  and  solicitude,  be  the  same 
when  he  should  be  once  more  an  inmate  under  his  mother's 
roof?  There  was  agony  in  the  thought  that  time,  which 
brings  change  to  all,  might  bring  change  to  him.  And 
Heaven  was  besought  with  earnest  importunity  to  spare  and 
bless  her  child. 

How  beautiful,  how  sacred,  is  the  tie  that  binds  two  lone 
hearts  as  one  !  Neither  can  enjoy  or  suffer  apart ;  neither 
is  united  to  aught  on  earth,  save  the  one  heart  shrined 
within  its  own  in  the  bonds  of  constant  affection.  Each 
sharing  the  same  hopes,  aspirations,  intentions,  dreams,  and 
views  of  life  ;  each,  without  reserve,  pouring  out  his  whole 
heart  to,  and  having  full  faith  in,  the  other. 

And  Mark,  was  worthy  of  all  this  prodigality  of  love ; 
intense  as  it  was,  it  came  not  between  a  mother's  heart  and 
a  Saviour's  cross.  She  had  but  this  one  earthly  tie.  Strong 
as  it  was,  it  drew  her  not  away  from  that  Friend  who  loves 
with  "  a  love  far  exceeding  that  of  kindred."  Since  they 
had  laid  the  clods  above  the  heart  of  the  one  being  who 
made  her  life  an  earthly  paradise,  his  only  was  the  love 
that  made  all  these  weary  years  peaceful  and  contented 
ones.  Theirs  had  been  no  divided  life ;  one  current  of 
affection  ran  through  both  hearts ;  an  undissembling  confi- 
dence knit  both  souls*  and  both  had  learned  in  the  school  of 
poverty  that  ready,  tender-hearted  sympathy  for  others  which 
affliction  generally  teaches. 

The  mother  stood  pale  and  trembling  where  Mark  had 
left  her,  striving  in  vain  to  stay  the  tide  of  painful  thoughts 


144  SELF-MADE,   OR 

which  rushed  unbidden  through  her  heart.  Her  face 
was  very  white  and  calm,  as  she  again  knelt  at  the 
Saviour's  feet,  and  implored  grace  for  herself  and  guid- 
ance for  Mark.  A  voice  whispered  sweetly  to  her  soul : 
"  Lean  here,  my  child ;  my  arm  is  all  powerful,  and  will 
uphold  and  shield  both  ;  trust  thy  heart's  treasure  to  my 
care  ;  even  as  a  father  pitieth  his  children,  so  the  Lord  pitieth 
them  who  fear  his  name." 

Bending  low,  she  pressed  one  kiss  upon  the  place  where 
they  had  last  knelt  together,  and  in  her  heart  arose  an 
earnest  trust,  attended  by  such  peace  as  true  faith  alone  can 
give.  Then  she  arose,  and  proceeded  calmly,  and  even 
cheerfully,  with  her  work. 

Time  passed.  It  took  days  and  weeks  to  accustom 
herself  to  Mark's  absence.  She  lived  contentedly,  worked 
untiringly,  and  slept  peacefully,  but  would  often  start 
from  some  sweet  dream,  thinking  Mark's  dear  voice 
called  to  her,  or  his  footstep  sounded  along  the  garden 
path.  She  lived  very  much  alone,  as  usual ;  the  cottage 
was  very  quiet,  the  stillness  almost  oppressive,  relieved 
only  by  the  busy  shuttle,  or  the  soft  hum  of  the  spindle. 
Mrs.  Sloper  came  every  day  to  inquire  after  her,  or  take 
her  home  with  her  to  share  their  evening  meal ;  and  Net- 
tie would  sometimes  steal  away  at  twilight  to  pass  an 
hour  with  her,  which  was  a  great  happiness  to  both. 
They  were  true,  faithful  friends,  such  as  the  widowed  heart 
could  rely  upon.  Save  these  three,  she  had  no"  confidential 
friends  ;  but  the  rude  walls  became  her  confidants,  the  trees 
and  flowers  her  companions,  her  Bible  and  her  unwavering 
trust  in  Christ  her  greatest  comfort. 

*  *  *  * 

The  summer  has  waned,  the  flowers  have  breathed  their 
sweet  lives  away,  and  the  autumn  winds  are  scattering 
their  brown  and  withered  leaves  in  every  direction. 
These  things  make  the  poor  widow  weep,  for  she  re- 


LIVING  FOR   THOSE   WE   LOVE.  145 

members  how  the  winds  of  fate  have  scattered  her  dear 
heart-treasures,  and  how  the  last  remaining  one  is  now 
made  the  sport  of  the  rough  gale,  which  had  shipwrecked 
many  as  brave  a  heart  as  his.  Sad  thoughts  would  often 
cross  her  mind,  and  even  tears  would  sometimes  well  up 
from  their  deep  recesses  in  the  heart;  but  there  always 
succeeded  that  calming,  soothing  confidence  in  the  Lord's 
protecting  care,  known  only  to  those  whom  the  Holy  Spirit 
has  taught  to  trust  Him. 
10 


SELF-MADE,    OR 


CHAPTER   XVII. 

THE  WANDERER  PLAYS  THE  GOOD  SAMARITAN. 

"  When  forced  to  part  from  those  we  love, 

Though  sure  to  meet  to-morrow, 
We  yet  a  kind  of  anguish  prove, 

And  feel  a  touch  of  sorrow. 
But  O,  what  words  can  paint  the  fears 

When  from  those  friends  we  sever, 
Perhaps  to  part  for  months,  for  years,  — 
Perhaps  to  part  forever !  " 

ANON. 

jjARK  strode  hastily  through  the  village  street, 
turning  neither  to  the  right  nor  left,  until  he  came 
to  an  angle  in  the  road,  a  little  beyond  which  the 
view  of  his  old  home  would  be  obstructed.  Here 
he  paused,  and  cast  one  long,  lingering,  loving  look  on 
that  home,  which,  humble  though  it  was,  had  been  to  him 
an  ark  of  safety,  where  the  dove  of  peace  forever  nestled. 
It  was  like  severing  his  heart-strings  for  him  to  turn  away 
from  all  he  held  dear,  and  seek  new  friends  and  new  ties 
among  strangers.  But  he  felt  that  necessity  required  the 
undertaking,  and  so,  summoning  all  the  courage  he  was 
master  of,  he  turned  and  walked  rapidly  away.  No  one 
was  astir.  The  busy  villagers  still  slumbered  in  silence,  and 
but  for  their  clogs'  half-knowing  bark,  the  early  pilgrim 
might  have  passed  on  without  a  salutation.  While  ascend- 
ing the  long  hill,  —  at  the  top  of  which,  but  away  from  the 
road,  stood  Mr.  Strange's  house,  —  Mark  hoped  to  catch  one 


LIVING   FOR   THOSE   WE   LOVE.  l^J 

glimpse  of  Nettie ;  and  if  so,  he  would  climb  upon  the  old 
stone  fence  at  the  stile,  and  wave  an  adieu.  But  she  was 
there  before  him,  watching  eagerly  for  his  coming.  She 
hastened  to  meet  him,  and  for  several  minutes  neither  spoke  ; 
but  the  audible  emotion  of  each  told  how  lasting  would  be 
the  impressions  of  this  hour. 

"  Nettie,  I  hardly  hoped  to  meet  you  again.  I  am  so  glad 
you  came  !  "  And  Nettie  replied  between  her  sobs,  — 

"  I  could  not  bear  to  have  you  go  away  without  saying 
good  by.  Good  by,  Mark ;  and  here  is  something  I  wish 
you  to  always  keep  to  remember  me  by.  It  is  my  little  Tes- 
tament —  the  best  little  treasure  I  have  in  the  world,  but  I 
will  give  it  to  you.  And  these  violets,  pressed  between  the 
leaves,  will  remind  you  of  the  place  where  they  grew.  I 
have  just  plucked  them  here  by  the  stile.  And  here  is  another 
bunch  for  dear  Miss  Grace.  They  will  wither,  and  be  not 
as  blue  and  fragrant  as  they  are  now  ;  but  I  have  nothing 
else  to  send.  Tell  her  how  very  much  I  love  her ;  and, 
Mark,  when  you  are  in  the  great  city,  where  you  will  see 
and  learn  so  much,  don't  let  it  make  you  proud,  and  heart- 
less, and  wicked  ;  think  of  your  dear  mother  and  —  me." 

This  last  little  monosyllable  was  uttered  in  a  tone  so  low 
and  tremulous  as  almost  to  escape  the  listener's  ear ;  but  he 
thought  he  heard  it,  or  it  might  be  but  the  echo  of  his  own 
thought. 

Poor  Mark,  he  felt  his  heart  had  given  the  last  great 
throb  when  he  looked  on  the  old  roof-tree  under  the  hill ;  but 
not  so ;  it  was  still  beating  violently,  and  his  lip  trembled 
as  he  took  the  little  brown  hand  held  out  to  him. 

"  Nettie,  I  thank  you  for  your  kind,  tender,  loving  counsel ; 
and  while  it  grieves  me  sore  to  part  from  you,  it  makes  me, 
O,  so  happy  to  know  that,  when  I  am  far  away,  you  will 
think  of  me,  and  love  me  as  a  brother  !  You  think  it  strange, 
perhaps,  that  I  leave  my  home  and  my  mother ;  but  some 
time  you  will  better  understand  the  reason.  Pray  for  me, 


148  SELF-MADE,   OR 

Nettie,  that  God  will  direct  me  aright ;  and  whether  my  life 
be  long  or  short,  happy  or  sorrowful,  I  shall  ever  think  of 
you  as  the  one  being,  whom,  next  to  my  mother,  I  love  best 
on  earth." 

They  were  both  silent  for  a  moment,  and  Mark  had  turned 
to  go ;  then  he  came  quietly  back  again,  and  stood  by 
Nettie's  side. 

"  You  have  your  own  troubles,  Nettie  ;  but  you  must  be 
patient  and  cheerful,  and  bear  up  bravely  under  them,  and 
you  will  grow  strong  to  endure  all  things,  and  be  a  comfort 
to  yourself  and  others.  And  now  I  must  say  good  by  to 
you.  I  intend  to  go  as  far  as  Edenton  to-day,  and  that  is 
thirty  miles  from  here,  and  I  may  have  to  walk  every  step 
of  it.  Good  by,  and  God  bless  you,  Nettie." 

He  imprinted  a  soft  kiss  on  her  silent  lips,  and  then  turned 
suddenly  away. 

Nettie  put  out  her  hand,  called  him  by  name,  murmured 
a  faint  farewell,  and  prayed  the  Lord  to  bless  and  protect 
him. 

Mark  was  happier  for  having  seen  Nettie.  From  that 
hour  there  was  a  tenderness  connected  with  the  thought  of 
her  unknown  before ;  a  sympathy  and  solicitude  always 
dwelt  with  her  memory,  framing  itself  into  kindliest  wishes 
for  her  happiness. 

The  old  stone  fence  closed  behind  the  light  form  of  the 
young  girl,  while  Mark  walked  on  rapidly,  as  if  every 
moment  was  precious. 

He  soon  arrived  at  the  narrow  pass  between  the  hills 
which  fenced  in  the  valley  below  ;  then,  for  some  distance, 
they  were  steeper  and  harder  to  climb.  But  his  step  was 
firm  and  elastic,  and  at  length,  their  heights  fell  behind  him, 
and  a  dense  forest  spread  before  him  on  either  hand,  with 
only  a  narrow  opening  sufficient  for  two  waggons  to  pass. 
Before  entering  the  forest,  he  turned  to  look  his  last  upon 
the  beautiful  valley  that  still  lay  shrouded  in  the  shadow  of 


LIVING   FOR   THOSE    WE    LOVE.  149 

the  mountain  ;  but  now  that  he  was  alone,  not  a  muscle 
quivered  as  he  gazed  upon  the  loved  spot.  Nettie's  tears, 
his  mother's  voice,  and  Jowler's  impetuous  whine  followed 
hard  after  him  ;  but,  like  "  Pilgrim,"  he  had  set  his  face 
against  his  native  city,  and  not  all  the  luring  sights  or  sounds 
should  tempt  him  back. 

His  heart  grew  strong  under  the  intense  love  which  he 
bore  to  the  home  of  his  childhood,  though  circumstances  had 
made  it  no  longer  a  place  for  him  to  abide  in. 

"  If  I  come  again,"  said  he,  "  I  will  come  as  a  man,  and 
no  one  shall  be  ashamed  to  take  me  by  the  hand,  and  call 
me  friend." 

A  glow  of  manly  pride  and  joyous  exultation  lighted  up 
the  face  of  Mark,  and  without  another  emotion,  save  an 
inaudible  benediction  upon  his  kind  mother,  he  sped  on  his 
journey. 

The  last  clearing  was  soon  passed.  A  few  scattered  trees 
stood  forth,  like  the  advanced-guard  of  an  army,  and  then 
Mark  was  alone  in  the  deep  forest.  Although  he  had  often 
traversed  their  dark  recesses,  and  knew  every  withered  tree 
and  blackened  stump  by  the  road-side,  yet  he  felt  as  if  he  was 
entering  unknown  solitudes.  Here  the  wild-brier  flourished 
in  native  luxuriance  ;  the  sassafras  boughs  interlocked  with 
the  thorn-apple  and  blackberry  ;  the  mandrake,  the  fern,  and 
golden-rod  disputed  every  foot  of  ground  with  their  neigh- 
bours of  still  lesser  pretensions ;  while  the  tall  oaks  and 
maples  sheltered  all,  losing  none  of  their  grandeur  and  ex- 
ceeding beauty  by  the  contrast.  The  thick  growth  of  the 
trees  and  unpruned  shrubs  shut  out  the  sunshine,  save  that 
now  and  then  a  soft  ray  would  gleam  through  an  opening 
made  by  the  felling  of  a  tree  t>r  the  lopping  off  of  a  bough. 
Mark  was  sometimes  thoughtful  and  abstracted,  and  then  he 
wished  for  no  companion  to  break  in  upon  his  reveries. 
Gloomy  as  the  place  was,  no  look  of  dejection  was  on  his 
face,  and  the  elastic  step  with  which  he  reached  the  end  of 


150  SELF-MADE,    OR 

the  darkened  road  was  in  keeping  with  the  swift  flight  of 
fancy's  pinion,  bearing  his  mind  onward  over  the  future. 

As  he  emerged  from  the  forest,  the  shadows  grew  less  and 
less,  the  sun  swept  the  dew  from  the  grass  that  skirted  the 
road-side,  and  every  breath  he  inhaled  was  redolent  with  the 
sweets  of  spring.  It  gave  him  fresh  courage,  for  now  all  is 
bright  and  cheerful ;  the  damp  and  darkness  that  lay  along 
his  path  at  first  are  now  far  behind,  and  his  young  heart 
beats  faster  as  he  thinks  it  an  earnest  of  his  success. 

That  beautiful  May  day  was  delightfully  serene  ;  the  blue 
skies  bent  low,  as  if  to  curtain  in  the  green  earth  from  the 
too  glaring  sunbeam ;  the  well-trodden  road  was  fringed 
with  luxuriant  green  ;  golden  butter-cups  and  dandelions  — 
those  prodigals  of  childhood's  wealth  —  peep  out  from  every 
fence-corner,  nodding  a  graceful  recognition,  as  the  traveller 
passes  their  rural  retreat.  Well-tilled  fields,  covered  with 
the  dark,  rich  green  of  the  young  corn,  and  orchards  in  full 
bloom,  are  on  either  hand,  while  distant  meadows  and  ver- 
dant pastures,  where  cattle  are  grazing  the  tender  herbage, 
glowing  in  the  bright  morning  sunshine,  stretch  far  away 
to  the  blue  sky  beyond.  Neat  cottage  farm-houses  nestle 
cosily  amid  the  flossy  foliage,  their  latticed  verandas  over- 
run with  the  sweet-scented  brier,  honeysuckle,  or  morning- 
glories,  while  the  flower-gardens,  with  their  leafy  labyrinths 
and  variegated  hues,  are  enough  to  set  a  stoic's  soul  aglow 
with  sentiment  and  poetry. 

Mark's  eye  noted  all,  as  one  scene  after  another  rose  to 
view  and  passed  in  quick  succession.  A  love  of  the  beauti- 
ful was  as  much  a  part  of  his  nature  as  the  pulse  that  told 
by  its  rapturous  beatings 

"  How  deep  the  feeling,  when  the  eye  looks  forth 
On  Nature  in  her  loveliness." 

He  was  not  much  given  to  dreams  and  musings.  His 
had  been  a  life  too  real  for  that.  He  had  learned  fact  long 


LIVING   FOR   THOSE   WE   LOVE.  151 

ere  fancy  became  his  interpreter.  And  all  unconscious  of 
the  spell  this  witching  fairy  was  now  throwing  around  him, 
he  gave  loose  rein  to 

"  hopes  that  beckon  with  delusive  gleams, 
Till  the  eye  dances  in  the  void  of  dreams." 

It  was  eleven  hours  nearer  sunset  than  when  he  started  on 
his  journey  over  the  hills  of  his  native  county.  It  seemed 
as  if  they  were  steeper  and  more  difficult  than  formerly,  and 
that  he  was  advancing  wonderfully  slow.  Edenton  was  still 
eight  miles  in  the  distance.  He  could  hardly  reach  the  vil- 
lage that  night.  He  was  very  tired.  His  early  breakfast, 
for  which  he  had  no  appetite,  and  light  luncheon  of  cakes, 
had  but  illy  supplied  the  nourishment  nature  demanded,  and 
he  was  just  thinking  how  acceptable  would  be  a  good  sup- 
per, and  wondering  where  he  should  get  it.  Inns  were 
"  few  and  far  between  "  in  those  days  ;  but  every  roof  shel- 
tered hospitable  hearts,  and  — 

"  Every  house  was  an  inn,  where  all  were  welcomed  and  feasted." 

A  kind  Providence,  or  good  luck,  as  some  would  say,  led 
his  footsteps  in  the  right  direction  —  to  a  place  where  he  ob- 
tained food  and  rest,  and  a  memory  of  things  more  to  be 
desired  than  even  these. 

Half  a  mile  farther  on  he  came  to  where  the  road  forked, 
and  as  the  guide-board  was  down,  he  paused  irresolute  as  to 
which  he  should  take.  The  one  to  the  right  seemed  the 
more  travelled,  but  it  led  down  into  a  ravine  between  two 
hills,  and  the  gap  was  narrow,  and  the  shadow  of  the  foliage 
too  deep  for  him  to  see  beyond.  The  other  was  rocky  and 
uneven,  and  as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach,  no  house  was  to 
be  seen.  Altogether  it  looked  the  more  formidable  of  the 
two,  and  Mark  chose  the  right.  The  right  one  it  proved  to 
be,  for  the  other  led  to  a  small  Quaker  settlement  four  miles 
distant,  with  scarcely  a  house  between  it  and  the  place  where 
the  bewildered  traveller  stood. 


152  SELF-MADE,   OR 

This  was  the  first  time  Mark  had  lost  his  reckoning. 
Though  the  road  over  which  he  had  walked  was  neither 
straight  nor  altogether  familiar,  yet  until  now  he  had  known 
when  to  turn  oft'  and  when  to  go  ahead. 

Now  he  had  emerged  into  the  great  world,  sure  enough  ! 
That  monstrous  bugbear,  which  so  many  have  slandered, 
abused,  and  feared,  his  good  friend  Deacon  Sloper  among 
the  rest.  Thenceforth  all  would  be  new  and  strange  —  new 
faces,  new  customs,  and  strange  varying  scenes.  What 
though  he  should  get  lost  occasionally?  — 

"  The  world  's  a  wood  in  which  all  lose  their  way, 
Though  by  a  different  path  each  goes  astray." 

What  cared  he  that  thousands  had  been  there  before  him? 
It  was  a  new  world  to  him,  and  would,  doubtless,  use  him 
quite  as  well  as  it  had  done. 

Descending  into  the  little  glen,  which,  dark  as  it  appeared 
to  his  dilated  optics,  proved  to  be  the  "  golden  gate"  of  his 
brightest  hopes,  it  led  the  way  to  the  goal  his  mental  vision 
had  long  seen  in  the  distance.  The  "open,  sesame"  which 
folded  back  the  glittering  portal  was  almost  as  mii-aculous 
as  though  the  "genii  of  the  lamp"  had  spoken  it. 

At  the  foot  of  the  glen  Mark  found  a  clear,  sparkling 
stream,  spanned  by  a  rustic  bridge,  on  which  a  man  was 
leaning,  waiting  for  some  cows  to  drink.  They  seemed 
quite  indisposed  to  hurry  themselves.  The  day  had  been 
warm,  the  water  is  cool,  and  their  sleek  sides  shrink  and 
expand  with  every  respiration  of  the  cool  air  that  sweeps 
down  from  the  mountain,  or  silently  steals  up  through  the 
dark  green  depths  of  the  shady  glen.  The  man  halloed  in 
a  half-persuasive,  half-authoritative  tone  to  the  cows;  but 
they  were  loath  to  leave  their  invigorating  half-bath,  and 
were  just  beginning  lazily  to  climb  the  opposite  bank. 

A  lad  of  some  ten  or  eleven  summers  was  putting  up  some 
bars  through  which  he  had  just  led  a  pair  of  fine  large  horses 


LIVING   FOR   THOSE   WE    LOVE.  153 

in  harness.  The  lines  were  thrown  carelessly  down,  and 
while  taking  the  last  bar  from  the  fence  against  which  it 
leaned,  an  end  struck  one  of  the  horses'  heels,  and  in  an 
instant  the  poor  lad  was  lying  insensible  upon  the  ground. 
Mark  sprang  down  the  road,  and  was  by  his  side  in  a  mo- 
ment ;  he  saw  with  horror  the  lines  coiled  around  the  boy's 
foot,  while  the  horses,  darting  forward,  had  plunged  into  the 
stream,  where  they  would  have  dragged  the  still  insensible 
youth,  had  not  Mark's  powerful  grasp  on  the  bit  at  that  in- 
stant stayed  their  course.  His  strong  arm  held  the  refractory 
animals  in  check,  while  the  father,  pale  and  trembling,  cut 
the  reins  and  extricated  his  darling  son. 

"  O,  God  !  my  boy  is  dead  !  my  poor  child  !  my  son  !  my 
son  !  Help  ho  !  " 

"  Let  the  horses  go,  young  man,  and  lift  me  up  ;  lift  him 
up  ;  raise  his  head  ;  help,  I  say  !  don't  you  see  he  is  bleed- 
ing? Great  God!  see  the  blood  !  it  flows  !  Run!  fly!  fetch 
help  ! "  And  the  distracted  father  drops  his  head  on  the 
bosom  of  his  child,  almost  as  lifeless  as  he. 

Mark's  less  excitable  nature  better  qualified  him  to  judge 
the  matter  correctly.  It  was  but  the  work  of  a  moment  to 
lead  the  panting  horses  back  to  the  road-sideband  fasten  them 
to  the  fence.  He  thought  they  might  be  needed.  Then  he 
hastened  to  bring  water  from  the  creek,  to  revive  the  lad,  if 
living,  and  stanch  the  blood  oozing  from  a  frightful  wound 
in  the  temple.  The  father  required  water  quite  as  much, 
for  the  strong  man  had  fainted. 

Mark's  hand  was  steady,  his  nerves  firm,  his  touch  light ; 
and  soon  the  man  revived,  started  up  with  a  strange,  bewil- 
dered stare,  fixed  his  gaze  first  on  Mark,  then  on  his  son, 
and  in  a  sad,  plaintive  tone,  asked,  "  Is  he  really  dead?  " 

"  No,  he  is  not  dead,  only  stunned  ;  and  if  you  can  assist 
me  in  dressing  this  ugly  wound,  I  think  he  will  soon  re- 
vive." 

A  faint  moan  from  the  lips  of  the  beautiful  boy  verified 


154  SELF-MADE,    OR 

Mark's  assertion,  and  put  new  life  and  strength  into  the 
father's  arm. 

"  Speak,  Robert !  speak  to  your  father  !  " 

"  O,  father  !  "  he  faintly  murmured. 

The  gentleman  —  for  such  he  really  was  —  again  addressed 
his  son,  calling  him  by  name,  and  linking  with  it  the  most 
endearing  epithets ;  but  to  all  his  questions  and  caresses  he 
was  answered  by  a  lengthened  groan. 

The  darkened  circle  around  the  eyes,  quivering  muscles, 
and  unnatural  respiration,  all  told  of  intense  suffering.  Mark 
remonstrated  with  the  agitated  father,  warning  him  against 
excitement  and  its  consequent  evils.  He  raised  the  head 
gently,  bidding  the  father  sit  quietly  on  the  turf  and  support 
it,  while  he  hastened  to  bring  from  his  small  stock  of  linen 
a  shirt  and  some  handkerchiefs.  The  former  was  quickly 
torn  into  bandages  and  scraped  into  lint,  while  the  latter 
served  for  compresses,  and  to  wash  the  wound  ere  they  were 
applied. 

"  Raise  him  up  a  little  more.  Let  his  head  rest  against 
your  shoulder  carefully  ;  there,  that  will  do,  sir." 

A  prolonged  groan  and  the  shrinking  of  the  delicate 
nerves  told  of  more  acute  pain,  and  they  thought  it  a  good 
omen,  for  now  he  could  realize  that  he  suffered.  The  dress- 
ing was  soon  accomplished,  if  not  as  skilfully  it  was  as 
speedily,  as  though  done  by  a  more  practised  hand,  and,  so 
far  as  the  staying  of  the  precious  life-current  was  concerned, 
answered  just  as  well. 

"  You  are  a  surgeon,  sir,  I  perceive,"  was  just  on  the  lips 
of  Mr.  Newell,  when  he  remarked  the  youthful  appearance 
and  toil-hardened  hands  of  this  young  scion  of  the  y£scula- 
pian  art,  or  one  whom  present  circumstances  had  made  such. 
Instead  of  this  he  said,  — 

"  But  for  your  timely  aid,  my  young  friend,  —  always  my 
friend,  whoever  you  are,  —  my  poor  boy  would  not  have  been 
saved.  I  am  henceforth  your  debtor,  and  —  " 


LIVING   FOR    THOSE    WE    LOVE.  155 

"  Spare  your  thanks,  sir ;  at  least  for  the  present,"  replied 
Mark  in  as  gruff  a  voice  as  he  could  assume ;  for  he  saw 
that  the  man's  gratitude  was  nearly  choking  him. 

"  The  next  thing  is  to  get  him  home." 

"  My  house  is  just  over  the  hill  yonder.  If  you  will  oblige 
me  further  by  driving  the  horses,  I  think  I  can  carry  my  boy 
in  my  arms." 

"  Permit  me  to  reverse  your  proposition,  sir.  I  am 
stronger  than  you  are  in  your  present  excited  condition. 
I  will  carry  your  son,  and  I  would  advise  you  to  ride  for- 
ward and  send  for  a  doctor  as  speedily  as  possible." 

Without  a  moment's  delay,  Mark  raised  the  lad  in  his 
arms,  and  bore  him  gently  to  the  house.  The  father  galloped 
past  him  ere  he  gained  the  hill-top,  and  after  answering 
Mark's  inquiries  relative  to  the  direction  -  he  was  to  take, 
darted  hastily  forward,  leaving  Mark  alone  with  his  pallid 
and  inanimate  burden. 

It  was  now  nearly  dark,  and  the  road  so  thickly  studded 
with  trees  and  bushes  that  he  could  scarcely  see  a  yard 
ahead ;  but  he  saw  there  were  no  turning-off  places,  and  it 
would  be  difficult  to  lose  the  way.  A  few  minutes'  walk 
brought  him  into  a  smooth,  open  road,  and  presently  he  en- 
tered, as  directed,  a  large,  rustic-looking  farm-gate.  He 
wended  his  way  up  a  broad,  gravelled  path,  darkened  by 
wide-spi'eading  maples,  their  dense  foliage  forming  an  arch 
so  sombre  and  solemn  that,  for  the  moment,  a  feeling  of  awe 
crept  over  him.  He  thought  a  still  darker  shadow  might  be 
brooding  over  the  place  whither  he  was  bearing  his  precious 
load.  Groans  and  heart-piercing  cries  saluted  his  ear  before 
he  reached  the  house,  the  bold  outline  of  which  was  just  vis- 
ible through  the  mazy  shades  that  surrounded  it.  He  was 
met  at  the  threshold  by  a  frail,  delicate-looking  lady,  three 
or  four  weeping  children,  and  an  aged  granddame  leaning 
upon  a  staff. 

"  O,  my  child  !  "  groaned  the  mother,  through  her  pale 


156  SELF-MADE,    OR 

lips,  whose  ashy  whiteness  was  clearly  visible  in  the  deep- 
ening twilight. 

"  Is  he  dead?     O,  Roby  !  speak  if  you  are  living." 

Not  the  least  murmur  of  response  told  that  life  remained ; 
and  the  poor,  half-frantic  mother,  as  she  bent  over  her  son, 
gave  one  heart-piercing  shriek,  and  was  borne  fainting  from 
the  room.  The  children  cried  aloud,  the  aged  grandmother's 
weak  limbs  refused  to  support  her  trembling  frame,  and  she 
too  sank  into  a  chair,  and  sobbed  piteously. 

All  was  consternation  and  confusion  ;  in  fact  Mark  seemed 
to  be  the  only  one  with  his  senses  left. 

While  he  thus  stood,  wondering  what  was  to  be  done  with 
the  body  (he  himself  feared  the  boy  was  already  dead),  a 
door  opened  and  there  floated  into  the  room  a  vision  of 
superior  loveliness  ;  and  withal  it  seemed  ethereal  as  it  glided 
silently  past,  without  uttering  a  syllable  or  betraying  the  least 
emotion. 

Had  Mark  been  superstitious,  he  might  have  thought  — 
and  that,  too,  without  tasking  his  imaginative  powers  too 
severely  —  this  beautiful  being  an  angel  sent  from  heaven 
to  bear  back  the  spirit  of  little  Robert  from  its  earthly  tab- 
ernacle. But  Mark  was  not  superstitious.  Besides,  the 
silver-white  wings  were  wanting ;  though  the  rustling  of 
celestial  pinions  could  not  be  more  noiseless  than  that  airy 
tread.  It  was  an  angel  face,  a  form  of  exquisite  beauty 
and  sylph-like  grace,  robed  in  pure  white,  with  hair  of  a 
pale  golden  hue,  falling  like  a  silken  canopy  over  a  neck  of 
ivory  whiteness,  and  eyes  full  of  heaven's  own  blue,  raised 
in  meek  submission  to  their  native  element,  as  if  imploring 
strength  and  firmness  wherewith  to  meet  the  exigencies  of 
this  trying  hour.  Such  the  vision,  and  such  the  thoughts  of 
Mark,  as  his  eye  unconsciously  followed  the  fair  form  through 
an  opposite  door  whither  it  had  vanished. 

"  Lay  him  here,  sir,"  said  the  young  girl,  in  a  voice 
sweet  and  tremulous,  as  if  it  took  its  music  from  her  face. 


LIVING    FOR   THOSE    WE   LOVE.  157 

"  O,  Roby !  my  angel  brother !  can  it  be  that  you  are 
gone  ?  " 

Mark  pressed  his  fingers  on  the  pulse,  discovered  a  faint 
fluttering  of  this  index  of  life,  and  conveyed  the  joyful  intel- 
ligence that  the  dear  brother  still  lived,  but  that  his  life  de- 
pended mainly  on  his  being  kept  free  from  excitement. 

Domestics  began  to  crowd  the  apartment,  evincing  their 
grief  by  tears  of  sincere  sorrow.  Mrs.  Newell  had  so  far 
recovered  from  her  swoon  as  to  appear  at  the  bedside,  sup- 
ported by  her  husband,  her  violent  grief  in  no  wise  assuaged, 
as  she  looked  upon  her  unconscious  son,  whose  features  were 
every  moment  assuming  a  more  death-like  appearance. 

"  Has  a  doctor  been  sent  for?  " 

"  Yes ;  but  it  is  eight  miles  to  a  doctor,  and  I  fear  his 
coming  will  be  too  late." 

"  O,  Lor,  a'  massy !  Yes,  I  guess  it's  no  use.  He's  done 
gone  a'ready  !  " 

Mark,  with  his  sternest  look,  reproved  the  speaker,  a  stout, 
buxom  colored  woman,  whom  he  afterwards  knew  as  "Judy," 
or  "  Aunt  Judy,"  as  she  was  more  familiarly  called. 

Addressing  Mrs.  Newell,  he  said,  "  Let  all  be  as  composed 
as  possible  until  the  doctor  arrives.  I  entreat  you,  my  dear 
madam,  to  be  calm  :  your  son  is  living,  and  much  —  every- 
thing—  depends  on  his  being  kept  perfectly  quiet." 

Mrs.  Newell  was  prevailed  upon  to  retire  from  the  room, 
and  in  an  undertone  Mark  reprimanded  the  thoughtless  ser- 
vant. 

"  Keep  such  thoughts  to  yourself.  Don't  you  see  they  dis- 
tress your  mistress? " 

"  The  Lord  bress  the  dear  chile !  Yes,  it's  onthoughtful 
in  me  for  to  go  to  aggervate  her ;  she's  sickly,  poor  thing ! 
and  if  Rob's  dead,  why,  there'll  be  two  funerals  to  'tend  — 
that's  all." 

While  Mark  was  giving  instructions  to  one,  words  of  hope 


158  SELF-MADE,   OR 

and  comfort  to  all,  he  was  by  no  means  an  idle  spectator  of 
the  scene. 

He  had  laid  the  lad  upon  a  divan  of  dark,  rich  velvet, 
removed  a  portion  of  his  clothes,  and  in  a  low,  calm  tone, 
called  for  pillows,  water,  towels,  and  a  fan,  which  the  little 
"  angel  in  white  "  hastened  to  bring.  With  light  footsteps, 
and  lighter  touch,  she  assisted  in  administering  the  restora- 
tives. 

"  Give  us  more  air,  if  possible :  the  room  is  close,"  whis- 
pered Mark. 

Mr.  Newell  sprang  to  the  windows,  raised  them,  and  tore 
from  their  gilded  fastenings  curtains  of  exquisite  texture,  and 
creeping  vines  of  rare  beauty  and  full  luxuriance,  whose 
dark,  green  leaves,  expanding  and  folded  buds  of  glittering 
gold  and  purple,  formed  a  tapestry  of  regal  magnificence. 

The  trampled  flowers,  on  which  the  evening  dews  are 
falling,  breathe  freely  their  sweet  perfumes  ;  the  cool  night- 
wind  takes  up  their  scattered  fragrance,  and  wafts  their 
invigorating,  life-giving  influence  to  the  young  sufferer's 
pallid  features.  The  fluttering  pulse  is  quickened,  the  eye- 
lids part,  the  lips  move  as  if  to  speak ;  but  a  sharp,  expres- 
sive moan  tells  of  the  intense  pain  which  the  effort  costs. 

"  Keep  very  quiet,"  was  Mark's  constant  admonition  to 
the  invalid,  as  consciousness  slowly  returned,  and  to  the 
family,  who,  with  hearts  so  full  of  sorrow,  could  not  refrain 
from  audible  grief. 


LIVING  FOR   THOSE   WE   LOVE.  159 


CHAPTER     XVIII. 
THE  YOUNG  STRANGER  AT  MR.  NEWELL'S  HOUSE. 

"  I  love  a  devious  path  that  winds  askance, 
And  hate  to  keep  one  object  still  in  view ; 
The  flowers  are  fragrant  that  we  find  by  chance; 
And  in  both  life  and  nature  I  would  rather 
Have  those  I  meet  than  those  I  came  to  gather." 

THE  BRUNSWICK. 

|HE  next  two  hours  passed  in  restless  anxiety  and 
feverish  expectation.  Never  had  moments  seemed 
so  long  to  Effie  Newell,  never  so  replete  with 
wretchedness.  The  uncertainty  as  to  her  broth- 
er's fate  left  an  expression  of  deep  sorrow  upon  her  beautiful 
face  ;  but  her  eyes  were  tearless,  her  hand  quiet,  her  voice 
sweet  and  gentle,  while  endeavoring  to  alleviate  the  suffer- 
ings of  her  brother,  or  soothe  her  parents  and  the  younger 
children,  who  were  by  no  means  as  composed  as  the  occa- 
sion required.  She  never  left  the  bedside  unless  to  fetch 
something  needful  to  keep  the  almost  exhausted  life-powers 
in  motion,  or  to  convey  to  her  poor  distressed  mother  intelli- 
gence of  every  cheering  symptom.  She  proved  an  efficient 
help  to  Mark  ;  but  of  whom  she  inherited  that  distinguishing 
quality,  presence  of  mind,  was  to  him  a  mystery. 

The  invalid  is  lying  very  quiet,  breathes  more  naturally, 
and  is  apparently  asleep.  Mark  feels  the  need  of  food  and 
rest,  and  for  one  moment  turns  away  for  fresh  air.  He  is 
met  at  the  door  by  the  old  negress,  who,  seeing  him  looking 
pale  and  weary,  expresses  surprise,at  his  haggard  appearance. 


l6o  SELF-MADE,   OR 

"  Lor*,  sir,  you  looks  a'  most  as  white  as  de  rest  ob  'em. 
Is  anything  happened?" 

"  The  symptoms  are  rather  cheering  than  otherwise.  I 
think  the  boy  is  asleep.  But  I  am  very  tired.  I  have  been 
travelling  since  daylight,  and  feel  faint." 

His  head  swain  with  a  strange  sensation,  but  the  cool  air 
revived  him.  A  light  step  approached  him.  It  was  Mr. 
Newell's.  Through  the  open  window  Mark's  words  had 
reached  him,  and  he  came  hastily  forward,  put  his  arms 
around  him  as  if  to  support  him,  and  led  him  to  a  seat  in 
the  open  air. 

"  Forgive  our  seeming  thoughtlessness,  my  young  friend. 
Our  great  sorrow  has,  I  confess,  nearly  turned  all  our  wits 
out  of  our  heads.  You  have  travelled  far  to-day,  and  per- 
haps have  not  supped." 

"  I  have  not,  sir.  I  was  just  beginning  to  think  I  had 
walked  about  far  enough  for  one  day,  and  was  looking  for 
a  house  to  stop  at,  when  I  came  up  with  you." 

"  Thank  God  for  sending  you  to  me  at  that  moment.  And 
now  I  wish  to  know  to  whom  I  owe  a  debt  of  gratitude,  such 
as  I  can  never  repay." 

"  My  name  is  Mark  Miller,  sir.  But  speak  not  of  grati- 
tude :  my  assistance  was  purely  accidental ;  besides,  I  have 
done  no  more  than  you  or  any  other  man  would  have  done 
in  the  circumstances." 

"  Very  few  could  have  done  what  you  did,  had  their  will 
been  ever  so  good.  I  am  very  nervous  and  excitable,  and 
my  thinking  faculties  seemed  nearly  paralyzed.  You  would 
have  been  most  welcome  in  any  circumstances,  but  now 
doubly  so  ;  and  I  hope  you  will  make  my  house  vour  home 
until  your  departure  is  a  thing  of  necessity." 

"  Here's  a  glass  of  wine  for  you,  Massa  Miller.  Take  it. 
It's  mighty  good  for  anybody  what's  faint  like." 

"  Thank  you,  Aunt  Judy  ;  but  I  never  drink  wine.  I  will 
take  a  glass  of  water  instead.  A  little  on  my  face  and  hands 
will  be  quite  as  acceptable." 


LIVING  FOR  THOSE  WE  LOVE.  l6l 

Judy  filled  a  large  tin  wash-basin  at  the  pump  ;  and  while 
Mark  was  performing  his  ablutions,  Mr.  Newell  said,  — 

"  Now  make  haste,  Judy,  and  get  the  young  gentleman 
some  supper.  A  cup  of  good  tea,  and  rest  are  what  he  needs 
most." 

"  O,  Judy's  ears  ain't  stuffed  wid  cotton  !  She  knowed  that 
long  afore  any  of  yer,  and  it's  all  a-smokin'  on  de  table ! " 

Mr.  Newell  led  the  way  to  a  small  breakfast-parlour,  in  the 
centre  of  which  stood  a  round  table,  laid  with  exquisite 
taste  and  neatness.  After  seating  Mark,  he  excused  himself, 
and  withdrew.  A  small  silver  tea-service  stood  on  a  salver 
of  the  same  material,  glistening  in  the  soft  rays  of  an  astral 
lamp,  which  stood  in  the  centre.  From  the  urn's  spout 
gurgled  the  steaming,  amber-coloured  beverage,  its  savoury 
odour  sending  forth  a  soothing,  revivifying  influence  ere  it 
was  sipped.  Before  him  was  a  nice  veal  cutlet,  fried  in 
golden  batter  ;  an  omelet  done  just  to  his  taste  ;  a  little  pyra- 
mid of  mashed  potatoes,  browned  crisp  on  the  top ;  golden 
butter,  and  soft,  white  bread,  just  like  his  mother's.  Then 
there  were  sweetmeats  smothered  in  rich  cream,  and  other 
delicacies,  which  Mark  declined  to  partake  of,  although 
Judy  insisted  they  would  not  hurt  him  after  his  long  walk. 
But  Mark  was  quite  satisfied  with  the  more  substantial  part 
of  the  edibles,  and  before  he  left  the  table  was  much  re- 
freshed. 

"  I  can't  imagine,"  said  Judy,  in  a  low  tone,  half  soliloquy 
and  half  inquiry,  "  what  possessed  that  hoss  to  up  and  kick 
poor  Bob  !  He  was  never  knowed  to  do  sech  a  thing  afore  ! 
Which  hoss  was  it,  I  wonder?" 

"  I  believe  it  was  the  sorrel  horse,"  answered  Mark,  al- 
though he  did  not  feel  himself  particularly  addressed,  or 
called  upon  for  a  reply. 

"  Yes,  it  was  '  Fairy,'  just  as  I  'spected  ;  she's  alers  frisky. 
But  I  never  knowed  her  to  cut  up  any  shine  like  this  ere  one. 
Poor,  dear  Bob  !  so  gentle  and  so  good  ;  just  like  Miss  Effie 
ii 


i6a 


SELF-MADE,   OR 


and  Master  Hal.  Dem's  alers  good,  but  dese  oder  young 
uns  is  a  heap  wus'n  the  wust  I  ever  seed  ;  though  I  shouldn't 
say  it,  p'raps,  seein'  you  are  strange,  and  'ud  never  a'  knowed 
it,  if  it  warn't  that  you  was  told.  But  that  boy  Bob  is  just 
the  smartest,  gentlest  creatur  eber  did  live  ;  he's  got  more 
larnin',  too,  than  many  a  grown-up  man  I've  seed  ;  and  now 
if  he  dies,  —  and  I'm  sure  he  will,  —  seein'  it's  him,  it'll  jest 
kill  poor  Missus  Newell  —  no  mistake  !  " 

"  Mrs.  Newell  seems  in  quite  ill  health,"  observed  Mark, 
who  noticed  Aunt  Judy's  inclination  to  be  somewhat  talka- 
tive. 

"  Yes,  poor  dear  chile,  she's  been  onhealthy  dis  two  or 
three  year.  We  used  to  live  in  New  York  ;  but  the  doctors 
ordered  her  into  the  country,  where  she  could  get  whole- 
somer  air,  and  clar  cow's  milk  to  drink ;  and  so  we  come 
here.  Ah,  me !  little  we  thought  we  was  a-bringin'  that 
blessed  chile  here  to  be  kicked  by  a  hoss  !  But  la's  a'  me  ! 
your  tea  is  clean  out,  and  I  never  noticed  it !  Take  another 
cup." 

"  No  more,  I  thank  you." 

"  Do.     I  alers  manage  so's  to  have  the  last  cup  the  best." 

"  The  first  and  last  were  both  excellent ;  you  must  excuse 
me  from  taking  a  third.  I  had  a  slight  headache,  but  your 
good  tea  has  completely  cured  it." 

"  I'm  glad  of  it.  But  hark !  I  hear  the  doctor's  hoofs 
a-comin'  up  the  road.  I  tell  you  he  makes  that  hoss  of  his'n 
spin,  when  there's  a  mergency  !  " 

Mark  resumed  his  watch  by  the  bedside,  and  in  about  ten 
minutes  the  doctor  entered.  All  stood  silently  regarding 
him,  as  if  life  or  death  hung  upon  his  lips.  A  moment 
longer,  and  they  would  know  whether  their  darling  would 
live  or  die.  Every  eye  was  fixed  on  the  doctor,  expecting  to 
read  in  his  countenance  the  realization  of  their  hopes  or 
fears.  He  asked  several  questions  in  a  low  tone,  passed  his 
hands  rapidly  over  the  several  limbs,  found  no  fractures  or 


LIVING  FOR  THOSE   WE   LOVE.  163 

sprains,  and  no  wound,  except  the  one  which  Mark  had  so 
successfully  dressed.  "  That  is  an  ugly  wound,"  said  he, 
taking  from  a  small  case  of  instruments  a  silver  probe,  with 
which  he  proceeded  to  examine  it.  Suppressed  groans  ran 
through  the  room  at  sight  of  the  instruments,  and  the  doctor 
advised  all  to  retire  except  Mark,  who,  he  said,  might  be  of 
some  assistance. 

After  the  lapse  of  half  an  hour  the  doctor  joined  the 
family,  assuring  them  there  was  nothing  more  serious  than  a 
slight  concussion  of  the  brain,  and  some  contusions  about 
the  body,  which  were  not  of  sufficient  importance  to  cause 
any  alarm. 

A  cry  of  joy  burst  from  all  hearts.  "  Then  he  will  be 
saved  !  My  boy  will  live  !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Newell,  grasp- 
ing the  doctor's  hand  with  much  warmth,  while  Mrs.  Newell 
wept  her  thanks  upon  her  husband's  breast. 

Effie  sat  silent  for  several  minutes,  as  if  struggling  with 
powerful  feelings ;  then  she  arose  and  left  the  apartment. 
Buried  in  the  dark  solitude  of  her  own  room,  she  breathed 
forth,  in  broken  accents  of  gratitude,  a  deep  and  fervent 
prayer,  asking  of  God  strength  and  submission  to  whatever 
His  will  might  be,  and  thanking  Him  for  His  great  mercy. 
Nor  need  we"  wonder  if,  while  she  thus  prayed  the  Lord 
to  raise  up  one  on  whom  He  had  laid  His  chastening  hand, 
another's  name  was  mingled  with  that  of  her  brother.  In 
sweet,  low  tones,  modulated  by  new  thoughts,  she  craved  a 
blessing  for  the  young  stranger  to  whom  she  felt  they  were, 
in  part,  indebted  for  that  brother's  life. 

The  doctor  gave  hopes  of  a  speedy  convalescence,  but 
said  he  would  watch  with  Robert  until  morning.  Mark 
was  urged  to  retire ;  but  to  every  entreaty  he  uttered  a 
gentle  remonstrance,  until  he  saw  the  patient  was  again 
sleeping  quietly,  and  apparently  free  from  pain.  It  was 
now  twelve  o'clock,  and  Mr.  Newell  insisted  that  he  should 
retire.  He  no  longer  hesitated,  for  he  remembered  the  long 


164  SELF-MADE,   OR 

journey  before  him,  and  felt  the  need  of  rest.  Mrs.  Neweti 
held  out  her  thin  hand  to  him,  and  the  tearful  tributes  of 
gratitude  that  bathed  her  white  cheeks  told  more  than  words 
how  heart-felt  and  lasting  that  gratitude  would  be.  Effie 
pressed  his  hard,  brown  hand  in  both  of  her  little,  soft, 
white  ones,  and  looked  so  unutterably  gracious,  and  said, 
"  Good  night,  sir,"  in  such  sweet,  musical  tones,  that  Mark's 
face  assumed  a  half-mortified,  half-vexed  expression  to  find 
himself  an  object  of  such  favour  for  doing  an  act  of  common 
humanity,  and  one  which  he  would  have  had  to  run  a  long 
way  around  to  avoid.  He  noticed,  too,  that  the  doctor  eyed 
him  closely  as  he  left  the  room,  but  did  not  wait  to  hear  if 
he  had  anything  to  say. 

He  followed  Mr.  Newell  up  the  broad  staircase,  glad  to 
escape  a  scene  which  left  its  burning  influence  on  his  cheek, 
to  say  nothing  of  the  terrible  cataract  of  emotions  over- 
whelming his  heart.  The  room  into  which  the  too  indulgent 
host  inducted  his  young  guest  was  large,  airy,  and  furnished 
with  simple  elegance.  Mark  cast  a  quick  glance  around 
him  ;  but  that  glance  was  sufficient  to  reveal  to  his  bewil- 
dered senses  the  many  beautiful  articles  with  which  the  room 
was  adorned.  If  he  could  have  had  his  choice,  he  would 
have  preferred  a  much  plainer  room.  He  felt  awkward  and 
constrained,  but  knew  not  whether  it  was  good  manners  to 
express  his  reluctance  to  occupy  one  so  magnificent.  It  was 
not  in  Mark  to  asssume  an  easy,  careless  air,  as  if  not  at  all 
surprised  with  these  many  evidences  of  wealth  and  refine- 
ment, or  to  accept  them  as  though  accustomed  to  their  use. 
Perhaps  Mr.  Newell  noticed  his  embarrassment;  for  he  said, 
with  much  kindness,  while  his  arms  were  locked  around 
Mark  in  a  fatherly  embrace,  — 

"  My  dear  sir,  there  is  in  my  heart  a  gratitude  to  you 
that  words  cannot  express ;  rest  you  here  to-night,  and  to- 
morrow I  would  know  more  of  you.  I  hope  you  will  rest 
well.  Do  not  rise  early ;  take  a  good  long  sleep  in  the  morn- 


LIVING   FOR   THOSE   WE   LOVE.  165 

ing.  You  look  fatigued  and  feverish ;  but  I  hope  the  care 
and  anxiety  which  you  have  imposed  upon  yourself,  or  rather 
which  we  have  imposed  on  you,  will  result  in  nothing  that 
will  survive  a  night's  repose." 

The  kind,  familiar  tone  in  which  this  was  uttered  seemed 
to  invite  Mark's  confidence,  and  had  the  effect  of  overruling 
his  scruples  about  making  known  his  wish  to  occupy  a 
plainer  room.  "  One  more  home-like,"  said  he,  smiling, 
"  and  a  bed  where  I  can  toss  about  at  will." 

Mr.  Newell's  bland  features  grew  serious,  if  not  stern  ;  and 
fixing  his  eye  steadfastly  on  Mark,  while  he  still  held  him  by 
the  arm,  he  said,  — 

"  Mark  Miller,  I  have  no  second-best  room  to  offer  to  the 
preserver  of  my  boy.  This,  our  guest-chamber,  is  the  room 
you  will  occupy  to-night.  Please  make  yourself  at  home  in 
it,  and  when  I  come  here  to  pass  a  twilight  hour  alone,  as  I 
sometimes  do,  it  will  be  pleasant  for  me  to  remember  that 
you  have  slept  in  it.  The  memory  of  this  night  is  for  a  life- 
time, and  I  would  not  add  to  its  painful  reminiscences  the 
thought  of  having  treated  my  benefactor  with  less  attention 
than  becomes  a  gentleman  and  a  host,  or  with  less  courtesy 
than  the  time  and  circumstances  demand." 

And  Mr.  Newell  felt  what  he  said.  In  that  hour,  when  it 
seemed  impossible  that  a  greater  affliction  than  the  loss  of 
his  son  could  befall  him,  when  he  was  convinced  that  the 
event  he  adverted  to  would  have  surely  taken  place  but  for 
the  manly  arm  that  saved  him  from  mutilation  or  death, 
when  despair  and  grief  were  exchanged  for  rapturous 
thanksgivings,  could  he  do  less,  or  feel  less,  than  he  ex- 
pressed ?  • 

After  Mr.  Newell's  withdrawal,  Mark's  eye  roved  in- 
voluntarily around  the  spacious  apartment.  All  sense  of 
weariness,  or  desire  for  sleep,  had  vanished.  Rich  lace 
curtains  draped  the  windows,  their  soft  azure  folds  con- 
trasting beautifully  with  the  dark-green  background  of  creep- 


l66  SELF-MADE,    OR 

ing  vines  overshadowing  them,  and  the  leaves  of  the  silver 
poplars  and  acacias  whispering  dreamily  outside.  Two  or 
three  portraits  adorned  the  walls,  and  on  one  side  was  a 
bookcase  filled  with  a  choice  selection  of  books.  Some  were 
lying  on  the  table  on  which  his  lamp  was  set.  His  hand 
involuntarily  opened  at  random  the  one  nearest  him,  and 
from  the  page  on  which  his  eye  first  rested  he  read,  — 

"  To  seek  a  competency  of  this  world's  goods  is  not  only 
wise,  but  the  duty  of  every  one  who  has  the  ability  to  think, 
or  the  strength  to  labour ;  but  this  hasting  to  be  rich,  this 
feverish  impatience  after  great  wealth,  may  be  counted  as 
one  of  the  saddest  sins  on  earth,  and  over  which  angels  weep. 
For  the  yellow  dust  men  will  forsake  the  dear  delights  of 
home,  leave  swelling  hearts  behind  them,  brave  the  scorch- 
ing plains  or  the  foaming  main,  sacrifice  health,  happiness, 
honour,  hope  !  Yes,  even  a  hope  of  heaven  !  And  yet  upon 
what  a  frail  thread  hangs  the  rich  man's  possessions  !  They 
may  in  a  day,  in  an  hour,  be  swept  from  him,  or  he  be  taken 
away  from  them,  and  a  grave,  far  away  from  the  loved  ones 
who  would  strew  flowers  thereon,  be  all  that  is  allotted 
him.  Dives  was  not  richer  than  Lazarus  on  the  day  of  his 
death,  and  certainly  his  fame  was  the  less  enviable.  How 
hardly  shall  they  that  have  riches  enter  into  the  kingdom  of 
heaven  !  The  prayer  of  Agur  contains  the  greatest  aspira- 
tion of  a  noble  mind,  and  one  that  will  wing  the  priceless 
soul  to  realms  of  light  and  life." 

He  closed  the  book,  asking  himself,  "  What  am  I  here  for? 
Why  have  I  left  home,  and  'swelling  hearts  behind,'  to 
brave  an  untried  world,  to  '  sacrifice,  perhaps,  health,  happi- 
ness, honour  '  ?  No,  not  honour,  nor  hope.  These  are  my 
inheritance,  my  capital. 

The  world  shut  out,  his  heart  turned  to  the  only  one  in 
whom,  next  to  God,  was  his  soul's  rest  and  comfort,  his  best 
of  earthly  things.  He  thought  of  Nettie,  too,  and  her  last 
words.  Her  sweet,  sad  face  was  haunting  his  memory,  and 


LIVING  FOR   THOSE   WE   I,OVE.  1 67 

the  wild  dream-angel  lingered  long  at  his  side,  this  night, 
loath  to  depart.  Before  retiring,  he  knelt  reverently,  while 
faith  and  hope  awoke  with  renewed  strength  within  his 
heart.  Sleep,  that  most  welcome  friend  to  the  weary,  was 
never  more  welcome  to  Mark.  Morning  found  him  refreshed, 
and  able  to  resume  his  journey  with  light  steps  and  buoyant 
spirits. 


l68  SELF-MADE,   OR 


CHAPTER   XIX. 
MARK  PROLONGS  HIS  STAY. 

"  Men  will  praise  thee  when  thou  doest  well  to  thyself." 

BIBLE. 

jjHE  morning  was  beautifully  calm  and  still,  the 
rising  sun  touching  with  rosy  tints  the  tops  of  the 
far-away  hills,  and  gilding  the  leaves  that  were 
yet  sleeping  beneath  Mark's  window.  His  was 
a  confused  waking.  He  saw,  instead  of  the  bare  rafters  in 
the  old  home  attic,  a  large,  handsome  room,  and  wondered 
if  he  was  still  dreaming.  By  degrees  it  all  came  to  him, 
and  he  sprang  out  of  bed,  thinking  of  the  beautiful  boy 
below,  and  wondering  if  he  was  living  or  dead.  He  gazed 
one  moment  through  the  clustering  foliage  that  draped  his 
window's  lattice,  out  into  the  broad  fields  of  brightening  ver- 
dure, ere  he  descended  the  stairs.  Nature  had  a  clean  face 
that  morning,  and  seemed  clothed  in  the  vesture  of  eternal 
spring.  A  slight  shower  had  fallen  during  the  night,  and 
the  little  drops  hung  like  silver  on  the  freshened  foliage. 
The  air  was  redolent  with  a  thousand  sweets,  exhaled  from 
wreathing  vines  and  flowering  shrubs,  and  balmy  incense 
rising  from  the  earth.  The  place  was  beautiful,  and  Mark 
strained  his  wondering  eye  to  take  in  the  whole  at  a  glance. 
It  seemed  to  him  that  no  fairer  scene  could  be  drawn  by 
Nature's  pencil.  He  crept  softly  along  the  great  hall,  listen- 
ing for  the  faintest  sound  from  the  sick  room.  None  came, 
not  even  a  murmur,  to  tell  there  were  living  occupants 


LIVING   FOR   THOSE    WE    LOVE.  169 

within.  With  nervous  hand  he  slowly  turned  the  door- 
knob, and  walked  in!,  The  lad  still  breathed.  Thank  God  ! 
his  suspicions  were  groundless.  Mr.  Newell  sat  dozing  in 
an  arm-chair  by  the  sleeping  invalid.  Effie  reclined  on  a 
sofa  by  his  side.  She  started  up  on  seeing  Mark,  and  in- 
quired, with  tender  solicitude,  how  he  had  slept.  Mark's 
great  anxiety  was  somewhat  relieved  when  told  how  well 
"  dear  little  brother"  had  rested,  and  by  observing  how  nat- 
urally and  sweetly  he  was  sleeping. 

"  The  danger  is  past,  I  hope.  I  think  he  will  know  us 
when  he  wakes." 

"  I  trust  as  much,"  answered  Mark  ;  "  though  it  may  be 
several  days  before  he  is  restored  to  perfect  consciousness." 

While  he  was  speaking,  a  door  opened,  and  Mrs.  Newell 
came  towards  the  couch.  She  took  Mark's  hand,  giving  him 
a  very  warm  and  tender  greeting.  They  sat  by  the  bedside 
a  few  moments,  then  glided  put  as  noiseless  as  they  came, 
leaving  Effie  to  her  tireless  vigil,  and  Mr.  Newell  to  his 
unbroken  slumber.  A  complete  stillness  and  something 
like  an  oppressive  silence  reigned  in  and  around  the  house ; 
objects  animate  and  inanimate  seemed  to  partake  of  the 
general  gloom.  Every  voice  was  hushed  to  a  whisper,  the 
morning  occupations  incident  to  farm-life  being  performed 
in  almost  unbroken  silence.  Mark  stood  upon  the  broad 
piazza,  surveying  the  scene  before  him,  which  was  one  of 
surpassing  loveliness.  Away  to  the  east  rose  a  range  of 
low,  billowy  hills,  the  white  fog  still  lingering  around  their 
summits  ;  but  between  the  hills,  and  over  the  sweet,  luxuriant 
meadows  and  newly-ploughed  fields,  the  broad  sunshine  had 
spread  a  "  golden  fleece." 

At  the  left  of  the  house  was  a  magnificent  flower-garden, 
filling  the  soft  air  with  the  sweet  odours  exhaled  from  a  thou- 
sand swelling  buds  and  bright  blossoms  just  bursting  into 
new  life  and  beauty.  At  the  right,  "  winding  at  its  own 
sweet  will,"  and  separating  two  broad  fields  of  pasture-land, 


I^O  SELF-MADE,    OR 

ran  the  streamlet  which  he  had  crossed  the  night  before, 
fertilizing  and  refreshing  with  its  clear  waters  the  tranquil 
landscape  through  which  it  flowed.  A  rustic  bridge,  span- 
ning the  flowing  creek  higher  up,  united  these  fields  of  daz- 
zling green,  affording  a  safe  passage  to  the  kine  then  crossing. 
The  house  was  a  large,  gothic  cottage,  with  tall  chimneys, 
high-arched  windows,  and  wide  piazzas,  "  flower-crowned." 
It  stood  amidst  a  grove  of  symmetrical  native  and  ornamental 
trees.  The  oak,  the  elm,  the  maple,  and  the  beautiful  horse- 
chestnut  cast  their  cooling  shadows  upon  the  ground,  while 
the  ailantus,  acacia,  mountain-ash,  arbor-vitae,  and  other 
evergreens  and  flowering  shrubs,  filled  up  the  interstices, 
making  a  scene  of  unrivalled  beauty,  though  with  less  pre- 
tensions to  art  than  nature.  Here  were  the  beauties  of  art 
and  nature  combined,  each  enhancing  the  grace  and  loveli- 
ness of  the  other.  It  seemed  to  Mark  the  fairest  spot  in  all 
the  earth.  And  yet  his  heart  felt  that  it  owed  allegiance  to 
his  own  dear  native  hills,  and  that  he  was  not  so  soon  to  be 
bribed  into  forgetting  them. 

Anxious  to  resume  his  journey  at  the  earliest  possible 
hour,  he  informed  Judy  that  such  was  his  intention,  though 
very  much  against  his  inclinations.  Judy  pleaded  hard  for 
"young  master"  to  stay  until  he  should  learn  the  fate  of 
"  poor  Bob."  She  hastened  to  spread  the  cloth,  and  ere 
many  minutes  elapsed,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Newell  and  Dr.  Mason 
entered,  and  they  all  sat  down  to  breakfast.  There  still 
lingered  traces  of  anxiety  on  the  countenance  of  each.  The 
doctor  spoke  encouragingly,  but  admitted  only  the  possibil- 
ity of  a  serious  and  protracted  unconsciousness.  "  I  must 
return  to  town  this  morning,"  added  he,  "  and  will  again 
spend  the  night  with  you.  In  the  mean  time  I  will  leave 
such  instructions  as  are  necessary ;  but  the  most  depends 
upon  his  being  kept  quiet  and  free  from  excitement,  should 
he  awake." 

"  And  is  it  absolutely  necessary  for  our  young  friend  to 


LIVING   FOR   THOSE    WE   LOVE.  17! 

take  his  departure  also?  "  said  Mr.  Newell,  fixing  his  fatherly 
eye  upon  Mark.  "  We  would  like  you  to  remain  with  us,  if 
at  all  practicable." 

"  I  had  thought  of  proceeding  on  my  way,  but  my  busi- 
ness is  not  urgent,"  replied  Mark,  promptly ;  "  and  if  I  can 
be  of  any  assistance,  I  will  remain  with  pleasure." 

Expressions  of  gratitude  and  glad  surprise  passed  from 
lip  to  lip,  until  all  had  said  —  even  the  faithful  Judy  —  how 
pleased  they  would  be  could  he  remain. 

"  My  conscience  would  not  permit  me  to  decline  an  invi- 
tation so  hospitably  given,  even  were  my  stay  of  less  impor- 
tance. I  have  had  a  good  night's  rest ;  and  if  the  doctor 
will  give  me  his  instructions,  I  can  relieve  you  all  from  pres- 
ent attendance  at  the  bedside  of  Robert,  and  so  you  can  take 
the  rest  you  so  much  need." 

"  Excellent  young  man  that  you  is  !  "  exclaimed  Judy,  with 
a  look  and  tone  that  were  meant  to  be  expressive. 

"  Many  thanks  !  "  said  Mr.  Newell.  "  It  is  not  altogether 
your  services  that  we  are  anxious  about ;  though  perhaps 
you  will  pardon  a  little  selfishness  on  our  part,  if  we  seem 
more  importunate  than  consistent." 

"  Rather  let  me  thank  you,  sir,  for  the  honour  you  confer 
upon  me,  a  stranger,  in  thus  admitting  me  to  your  hospitality 
and  your  confidence." 

"  All  in  good  time,  young  man,  when  I  merit  or  desire 
them.  For  the  present,  you  owe  me  no  thanks." 

The  doctor  had  gone,  and  Mark  was  the  lone  watcher  at 
the  invalid's  couch.  "  Poor  boy  !  "  he  said,  compassionate- 
ly ;  "  if  he  should  live  only  to  be  a  helpless  imbecile  the  rest 
of  his  life,  how  sad !  how  terrible  !  Better  that  his  young 
life  end  here.  God's  will  be  done."  He  lifted  his  heart  in 
silent  prayer  to  that  Being  who  holds  the  universe  and  the 
life  of  the  smallest  insect  in  His  hand.  u  If  it  be  Thy  will," 
prayed  he,  "  restore  this  child  to  his  parents,  '  clothed  in  his 
right  mind.' " 


1*2  SELF-MADE,   OR 

It  was  a  little  past  noon  when  the  faithful  negress  came  to 
relieve  Mark  of  his  tireless  and  not  unpleasant  watch.  He 
felt  he  was  doing  good,  and  that  brought  happiness  with  it ; 
besides,  it  gave  him  time  to  think.  Judy  "  knowed  he  was 
clar  wore  out  'fore  this  time,  but  she'd  a  heap  o'  things  to  do 
'fore  she  could  come.  There  was  a  nice  lunch  for  Massa 
Mark  in  the  dining-room  :  then  he  must  take  rest,  and  Judy 
would  stay  with  poor  Bob." 

While  Mark  deliberated  whether  to  yield  to  the  persuasive 
eloquence  of  Judy,  or  remonstrate  against  her  authority,  the 
door  opened  cautiously,  and  Mr.  Newell  entered.  He  found 
Robert  as  he  had  left  him  —  still  unconscious,  though  appar- 
ently free  from  pain. 

"  No,  Judy'll  stay  with  poor  little  Massa  Bob  ;  jes'  you 
two  go  'long  and  take  some  rest :  you'll  be  wanted  for  to- 
night," was  that  faithful  serving-woman's  remonstrance  when 
urged  to  retire. 

After  luncheon,  Mr.  Newell  invited  Mark  to  a  cool  seat 
under  one  of  the  great  horse-chestnuts,  then  in  full  bloom. 
This  quiet  spot  was  a  favourite  retreat  with  all  the  family. 
Here,  when  the  labours  of  the  day  were  done,  and  the  setting 
sun  cast  his  golden  beams  upon  the  soft  greensward,  when 
all  nature  seemed  to  partake  of  the  peace  and  happiness 
reigning  in  their  own  hearts,  they  would  assemble  to  while 
away  the  twilight  hours.  Here  the  two  conversed  on  subjects 
familiar  to  each,  talked  gravely  of  farming  and  stock-rais- 
ing, haying  and  harvesting,  the  capabilities  of  the  soil,  —  if 
sandy  or  loamy  be  better  adapted  to  the  culture  of  turnips, 
and  whether  mangel-wurtzel,  or  ruta-baga,  or  sugar-beet  be 
best  for  sheep  and  cows.  Having  exhausted  the  various  topics 
relative  to  farming  and  fencing,  ditching  and  draining,  crop- 
ping and  stock-raising,  —  in  all  of  which  Mark  proved  him- 
self the  greater  adept  of  the  two,  —  Mr.  Newell  questioned 
him  relative  to  his  journey.  He  drew  from  him  a  clear 
statement  of  all  he  wished  to  know  concerning  his  home, 


.     LIVING   FOR   THOSE   WE   LOVE.  1 73 

his  early  life,  his  aims  and  aspirations,  his  plans  of  operation 
when  in  the  city  whither  his  footsteps  were  tending  when 
arrested  by  the  scenes  in  which  Mr.  Newell's  family  played 
so  conspicuous  a  part.  Had  Mark  been  gifted  with  the  elo- 
quence of  a  Demosthenes,  he  could  not  have  found  a  more 
attentive  auditor.  Mr.  Newell  was  a  "  self-made  "  man,  and 
had  —  like  thousands  of  our  noble  American  gentlemen  — 
risen  by  his  own  merits  to  the  honourable  position  he  then 
occupied.  Remembering  his  own  early  aspirations  and  dis- 
couragements, his  heart  ever  warmed  with  sympathy  towards 
young  men  who  sought  to  rise  above  obscurity,  —  who  felt 
within  themselves  the  power  and  will  to  do  and  dare,  to 
brave  all  obstacles  to  their  success.  This  good  man  smiled 
approvingly  to  the  truthful  earnestness  of  Mark's  concluding 
words. 

"  I  hardly  hope  to  have  all  my  golden  boy-dreams  realized. 
I  should  be  disappointed  were  I  to  find  '  smooth  sailing.'  I 
expect  to  '  row  against  the  tide ; '  but  a  long  pull  and  a 
strong  pull  tests  the  strength  of  the  oarsman's  arm,  and 
'  reverses  give  force  and  boldness  to  a  man's  character.' 
I  have  only  moderate  abilities,  and  no  extra  amount  of 
talent  or  shrewdness ;  but  for  all  that,  I  have  set  my  heart 
on  becoming  a  man  of  bril ordinary  attainments." 

Mark  must  be  pardoned  a  little  egotism :  he  spoke  what 
he  thought,  and  spoke  truth.  His  friend  felt  the  same,  and 
finished  the  word  Mark  had  begun. 

The  interview  lasted  for  an  hour  or  more  ;  and  at  its  con- 
clusion Mr.  Newell  had  thrown  himself  completely  into 
Mark's  affairs,  becoming  intensely  interested  in  them. 

A  few  hours  elapsed,  and  Robert  awoke  from  the  sweet 
natural  sleep  that  had  lasted  several  hours.  His  eyes  opened 
with  a  dreamy,  half-conscious  expression  in  them,  then  turned, 
with  a  slow,  rational  look,  towards  his  father.  A  smile 
passed  over  his  pallid  face,  and  all  wept  with  joy,  but 
silently,  well  knowing  that  the  recovery  of  the  little  patient 


174  SELF-MADE,   OR 

depended  on  his  mind  being  kept  perfectly  at  ease,  and  the 
injured  brain  in  absolute  repose. 

A  month  passed,  and  Mark  was  still  at  the  farm.  Mr. 
Newell  had  said,  "  If  you  could  help  me  a  little  with  my 
tardy  spring's  work,  without  interfering  seriously  with  your 
plans,  you  would  greatly  oblige  me,  and  perhaps  I  can  be 
of  some  use  in  helping  you  to  perfect  them.  It  will  be 
necessary  for  me  to  be  in  New  York  in  June,  and  I  have 
ideas  of  my  own,  which,  if  carried  out,  will  perhaps  some- 
what modify  yours.  /  'wish  you  would  stay"  So  Mark 
tarried ;  and  under  his  supervision  the  work  progressed  rap- 
idly. And  they  went  to  New  York  together. 


LIVING  FOR   THOSE   WE   LOVE.  1 75 


CHAPTER    XX. 
WHAT  IS  PASSING  AT  SORRELTOWN  MEANWHILE. 

"Troubles  are  often  the  tools  by  which  God  fashions  us  for  better 
things."  BEECHER. 


YEAR  has  not  made  many  changes  in  the  little 
society  of  Sorreltown.  Sam  Maynard  has  been 
duly  installed  as  junior  partner  in  the  firm  hence- 
forth to  be  called  "  Maynard  and  Son  ; "  Helen 
has  graduated  with  becoming  honours,  and  sustains  the  dig- 
nity of  the  sect  "  fine  ladies  ;  "  and  Mrs.  Strange  is  confined 
to  her  bed  with  a  lingering,  hopeless  disease.  Nettie's  home 
grows  darker  and  more  cheerless,  and  the  neighbours  pity 
her  unhappy  condition.  Unloved,  alone,  with  none  to 
cheer  and  strengthen  her,  what  young  heart  could  beat  with 
life  and  hope  amid  such  scenes?  And  yet  Nettie's  never 
faltered,  so  far  as  she  was  concerned.  It  was  only  when  she 
saw  her  mother's  step  grow  weaker,  her  voice  feebler,  and 
the  cough  more  alarming,  that  her  courage  failed.  The 
same  kind  heart  and  noble  soul  are  hers:  time  and  sorrow 
have  no  power  on  these,  save  to  exalt  and  chasten,  to  purify 
and  gather  strength,  as  the  years  roll  away.  Aside  from  the 
household  duties,  now  devolving  entirely  upon  her,  Nettie 
is  her  mother's  only  nurse.  Her  hand  administers  to  her 
wants,  her  pillow  is  smoothed  by  the  faithful  child,  who  is 
now,  as  ever,  the  joy  and  consolation  of  her  mother's  life. 
She  strives  to  bring  sweetness  out  of  the  bitter ;  for  it  is 
wormwrood  to  see  her  mother  sinking  rapidly  into  a  decline. 


1^6  SELF-MADE,   OR 

Mrs.  Miller  is  cheerful,  and  even  happy.  The  weekly  mail 
always  brings  a  letter  from  Mark,  and  her  friends  the  Slo- 
pers  are  friends  in  the  true  sense  of  the  word.  "  Mark  is 
growing  so  tall  and  stout  you  would  hardly  know  him," 
wrote  Grace ;  "  but  he  cares  for  nothing  but  business  and 
your  dear  letters.  He  is  still  an  inmate  of  our  family ;  but 
all  day  long,  and  until  after  dark,  he  is  engaged  in  writing 
letters  and  posting  ledgers ;  but  his  heart  is  light,  and  his 
face  wears  its  wonted  cheerfulness ;  and  when  evening 
comes,  we  all  watch  anxiously  for  his  well-known  footstep 
hurrying  along  the  walk,  and  as  he  bounds  up  the  steps,  my 
little  cousins  are  always  at  the  door,  to  greet  him  with  shout 
and  song  and  smiles  of  glad  welcome.  It  is  to  us  all  the 
happiest  hour  of  the  day."  The  tears  in  the  mother's  eyes 
told  better  than  words  how  happy  these  letters  made  her. 
*  *  *  * 

Spring  once  more  puts  on  its  glorious  bloom,  and  "  the 
warm  sun,  that  brings  seed-time  and  harvest,  returns  again." 
All  are  busy  with  their  gardens,  or  making  improvements 
within  doors.  Nettie  often  glances  about  the  rough-looking 
apartments,  —  affording  such  a  striking  contrast  to  the  neat 
cottage  of  Mrs.  Miller,  —  at  the  stained  walls,  dusty  furniture, 
and  smeared,  curtainless  windows,  wondering  if  she  cannot, 
without  giving  much  offence,  suggest  some  improvements. 
"  O,  mother,"  said  she,  one  day,  "  I  am  going  to  be  so  smart 
this  week !  I  am  going  to  wash  all  the  windows,  and  if  we 
could  get  some  lime,  I  think  I  could  whiten  the  walls." 

"'  They  need  it  bad  enough,  goodness  knows  ;  but  I  believe 
we  might  wade  in  dirt  up  to  our  knees  before  he  would  lift 
a  hand  to  help  us.  I  don't  know  whether  them  winders 
could  be  taken  out  or  not :  they  never  have  been  since  the 
house  was  built." 

"  O,  yes,  they  can  ;  see  how  loose  this  one  is !  We  can 
pry  off  the  casing  on  one  side,  and  it  will  almost  fall  out. 
If  father  would  only  help  me  a  little !  and  I  think  he  will  if 


LIVING  FOR   THOSE   WE   LOVE.  1 77 

we  ask  him."  She  found  it  no  very  difficult  task,  after  getting 
her  father  interested ;  and  so  before  Saturday  night  came 
around,  the  old  house  had  quite  the  appearance  of  thrift  and 
cleanliness.  The  ice  once  broken,  and  meeting  with  no 
violent  opposition,  Nettie  resolves  on  further  improvements. 
The  stubble,  over-grown  weeds,  and  noxious  hop-vine  are 
rooted  out,  and  small  trees,  flowers,  shrubs,  and  vines  planted 
in  their  stead.  Her  father  seems  to  have  awakened  from  his 
dreamy,  lethargic  existence,  and  occasionally  stoops  to  lend 
her  a  helping  hand  when  she  is  performing  some  task  which 
requires  her  utmost  strength.  She  always  has  such  a  sweet, 
pleasant  smile  to  repay  his  kindness,  that  he  goes  away  think- 
ing he  will  help  her  more  when  he  has  time.  His  fields 
and  fences  are  looking  better  this  spring  than  they  have  for 
years. 

Mrs.  Strange  often  speaks  of  Nettie  with  more  affection 
than  she  had  ever  been  known  to  speak  of  any  one,  confess- 
ing that  she  is  "  a  great  blessing  to  her."  There  is  less 
fault-finding,  and  the  dear  child  works  with  more  heart. 
Her  mother's  eye  never  wearies  in  watching  her  movements, 
now  and  then  a  smile  of  approval  lighting  up  her  pale  face. 
She  is  afraid  Nettie  will  kill  herself  with  hard  work ;  she 
reproves  the  younger  children  for  making  her  so  much 
trouble,  and  once  she  actually  chastised  Benny  for  crumbling 
his  bread  over  the  floor  just  after  Nettie  had  swept.  Nettie 
never  wearies  of  weeding,  and  watering,  and  training  her 
flowers,  or  of  putting  things  to  rights  in-doors,  flying  about 
from  room  to  room,  with  broom  and  duster,  until  the  whole 
presents  an  aspect  so  changed  that  it  has  become  one  of  the 
seven  wonders  of  the  village.  "  It  is  singular,  too,"  they 
say,  "  how  Nettie  has  improved." 

*  *  *  * 

Another  year  has  passed.     Another  form  has  been  borne 
away  from  the  cheerless  old  house.     There  is  another  new- 
made   grave   in  the  church  yard   on  the   hill-side.     Nettie 
12 


1^8  SELF-MADE,   OR 

misses  her  mother  sadly,  and  weeps  tears  of  heart-felt  sor- 
row ;  but  she  is  comforted  when  she  thinks  of  the  change 
the  last  year -has  wrought.  She  feels  that  her  mother  did 
not  cross  the  dark  Jordan  alone. 

Nettie  is  still  the  same  patient,  industrious  Nettie  of  old, 
not  handsome,  when  compared  with  some  others,  but  a 
truthful,  loving  soul,  with  one  absorbing  passion  to  stimu- 
late her,  —  the  happiness  of  her  household,  the  well-being 
of  her  brothers  and  sisters,  whom  she  loves  with  a  pure  and 
holy  devotion  ;  and  they  are  paying  it  in  their  way,  for  they 
are  generally  obedient  to  her  wishes  and  pleasant  to  one 
another.  They  live  in  the  same  old  brown  house,  but  it  is  a 
far  less  unsightly  place  than  formerly.  Indeed,  it  is  looking 
beautiful  now  in  the  pleasant  summer  time,  when  the  grass 
is  green  and  the  flowers  in  full  blossom.  Nettie  only  wishes 
Mark  and  Grace  could  see  it.  Ah,  if  they  did  but  know  how 
hard  she  toiled,  day  and  night,  their  hearts  would  ache.  Mr. 
Strange  has  once  more  become  a  well-to-do  farmer,  —  a 
sober,  industrious  man.  When  the  health  of  his  wife  failed, 
and  he  saw  her  passing  away  from  his  sight,  he  seemed  to 
awaken  from  his  old  life  of  slothfulness  and  dissipation,  and 
from  that  time  to  the  present  was  all  that  a  loving  husband, 
a  devoted  father,  could  be.  He  is  now  redeeming  the  wasted 
years,  laboring  harder,  if  possible,  than  in  his  younger  days. 

Nettie  has  become  accustomed  to  rely  upon  her  own  judg- 
ment in  matters  of  economy  and  expenditure,  her  father 
seeming  to  have  more  confidence  in  her  than  in  himself.  At 
first  she  shrank  from  this  self-reliance,  and  longed  for  some 
strong  arm  to  lean  upon  —  some  mature  judgment  to  coun- 
sel, some  pleasant  voice  to  say,  "  Well  done."  Every  day 
saw  her  more  necessary  to  her  family :  the  little  ones  were 
growing  ;  and  this  fact  impressed  her  deeply  with  her  ineffi- 
ciency and  inexperience.  Did  they  not,  as  Grace  had  said, 
teach  her  patience  and  the  need  of  a  gentle  voice  and  cheer- 
ful manner? 


LIVING   FOR  THOSE   WE   LOVE.  179 

She  would  often  say,  "  Soon  my  brothers  and  sisters  will 
be  too  large  for  me  to  control :  God  help  me  to  exert  a  good 
influence  while  I  may,  —  to  think  of  them  and  my  father 
only,  when  all  beyond  seems  so  dark  that  the  shadows 
frighten  me."  And  then  she  would  pray  for  light  to  walk 
by,  and  would  leave  her  all  in  the  hands  of  Him  who  could 
brighten  or  darken  her  pathway,  as  He  saw  was  for  her  good. 

Little  time  as  there  was  for  romancing,  there  were  awaken- 
ing in  the  bosom  of  Nettie  new  and  happy  thoughts,  which 
even  the  stern  duties  of  life  did  not  help  to  bapish.  Those  du- 
ties were  performed  cheerfully,  and  with  no  thought  that  they 
were  praiseworthy,  or  that  others  would  esteem  her  the  more 
for  them.  She  would  sometimes  dream  of  Mark  and  Miss 
Pearson,  far  away  in  the  great  city,  and  of  "  dear  mother  "  and 
"  little  Janie,"  sleeping  over  the  hill  yonder  in  "  God's  acre," 
when  her  father's  voice  left  her  morning's  dream  unfinished, 
or  the  children's  noise  broke  in  upon  some  charming  reverie. 
She  would  often  compare  Mark's  busy$  active  life  in  the 
great  city,  doing  good  and  getting  good,  with  her  own  insig- 
nificant sphere  and  daily  tread-mill  existence.  He  would 
accomplish  something ;  but  her  hopes,  her  plans,  her  pros- 
pects, what  were  they  ?  Futile,  worthless,  nothingness.  And 
yet  hers  was  an  ever-active  life,  —  busy,  busier,  busiest,  every 
day,  and  all  the  time.  Little  as  she  thought  it,  hers  was  a 
brave  spirit ;  though  there  were  times  when  the  worn-out 
physical  nature  sunk  under  an  accumulation  of  care  such  as 
might  discourage  one  twice  her  age.  She  sometimes  longed 
for  a  different  home,  —  a  different  life,  —  with  some  little 
pleasure  in  it,  and  not  all  duty ;  but  her  dead  mother's  last 
appeal,  —  her  dying  injunction,  —  that  she  would  "  be  as  a 
mother  to  the  children,"  these  little  ones  dependent  on  her, 
and  her  father's  lonely  life,  always  reproved  her  for  such 
thoughts.  And  so  she  toiled  on,  and  dreamed  on  ;  bvit  the 
dear  ideal  of  what  she  would  like  to  have,  and  what  she 
would  like  to  be,  seemed  too  far  beyond  her  powers  of 


iSo  SELF-MADE,   OR 

accomplishment.  The  spirit  was  indeed  strong ;  but  the 
strength  to  do  was  weak,  —  O,  how  weak  ! 

One  day  in  the  sweet  spring-time,  when  the  gardening  was 
nearly  done,  and  the  old  house  had  gone  through  a  thorough 
process  of  renovating,  and  Nettie  had  just  seated  herself  on 
the  "  new  porch,"  to  take  a  long  breath,  she  was  surprised 
to  see  the  mail-coach  come  up  the  road  and  stop  at  their 
place.  It  was  so  tuiusual  a  thing  that  it  quite  upset  Nettie's 
equanimity,  and  put  her  heart  in  the  least  little  bit  of  a  flutter. 
She  sped  down  to  the  gate,  hoping,  fearing,  she  knew  not 
what.  She  thought  only  of  Grace  and  Mark.  But  the 
coach  was  empty ;  and  but  for  the  pleased,  half-laughing 
expression  on  the  driver's  face,  she  would  have  foreboded 
evil  tidings.  There  could  be  nothing  serious  lurking  behind 
that  jolly,  good-natured  face,  she  was  quite  sure.  So  after 
the  usual  salutations  were  gone  through  with,  the  man 
said,  — 

"  I've  got  something  for  you,  Miss  Nettie,  — brought  it  all 
the  way  from  Albany.  It's  mighty  heavy ;  but  if  you  will 
lend  a  hand  a  bit,  so  I  can  shoulder  it,  I  can  manage  the 
rest." 

"  It  surely  is  not  for  me :  there  must  be  some  mistake," 
answered  Nettie,  as  the  man  was  about  shouldering  a  box 
of  large  dimensions,  nearly  filling  the  whole  boot  of  the 
stage. 

"  No  mistake  at  all.  Just  read  thim  letters  on  the  kiver, 
and  then  tell  me  if  you're  not  the  young  lady  it  manes." 

There  it  was  —  the  great  box  —  marked,  "Miss  Nettie 
Strange,  Sorrel  Hill,  N.  Y.,"  in  bold,  legible  letters,  not  to 
be  misunderstood. 

"What  can  it  mean?"  murmured  Nettie,  following  the 
garrulous  Irishman,  as  he  staggered  under  the  weight  of  his 
great  burden. 

"  No,  indade,  bless  your  dear  heart !  there's  niver  a  cent 
to  pay  on  it,  either.  Asy,  now  ;  for  don't  ye  see  it  says,  '  To 


LIVING   FOR   THOSE   WE   LOVE.  l8l 

be  handled  with  care '  ?  There  it  is,  now,  fernenst  the 
piazza ;  and  you  must  just  sign  this  resate,  as  tells  how  I 
delivered  it '  right  side  up  with  care.'  " 

With  a  trembling  hand  Nettie  wrote  her  name  at  the  bot- 
tom of  the  paper,  and  for  the  first  time  in  her  life  felt  that 
she  was  of  some  little  consequence.  For  the  first  time  in 
her  life  she  felt  her  womanhood  ;  and  we  can  pardon  her  if 
she  assumed  a  little  air  of  importance.  Was  not  that  great 
box  with  its  contents  hers?  Had  she  not  signed  a  paper 
to  that  effect?  And  had  she  not  been  addressed  as  Miss 
Strange? 

"  You  will  surely  accept  something  for  your  trouble.  I 
will  bring  you  a  cake  and  a  bowl  of  cool  milk :  they  will 
refresh  you.  The  day  has  been  warm  for  this  time  of  the 
year." 

"  Yes ;  and  my  horses  are  tired  and  thirsty,  and  I  must 
hurry  on.  I  have  no  doot  your  cakes  are  very  nice :  I  hear 
you  are  a  famous  housekaper ;  and  by  the  looks  o'  things 
hereaboots,  some  deevil  o'  a  fairy  must  have  been  at  woork 
on  the  ould  place.  I  tell  you,  little  lady,  you  are  a  posy, 
and  I  hear  the  folks  a-talkin'  of  how  nate  and  smart  you're 
gettin'." 

The  least  perceptible  blush  of  pride  dyed  Nettie's  cheeks, 
for  she  was  now  a  little  bit  proud  of  her  home.  Only  there 
were  so  few  who  ever  came  to  see  and  admire  it,  that  this 
man's  words  made  her  happier,  and  her  heart  lighter  than  it 
had  ever  been  before. 

"  Please  accept  my  thanks  for  bringing  the  box.  It  must 
have  been  a  great  trouble,  —  so  large,  and  coming  so  far. 
From  Albany,  did  you  say  ?  " 

"  Yes,  to  be  sure ;  but  indade  you  owe  me  no  thanks.  I 
am  paid  for  it ;  and  if  you  have  iver  any  errands  or  missages 
to  sind,  you  have  only  joost  to  let  me  know." 

"  Thank  you.     I  will  remember  your  kindness." 

"  Och !  I  had  like  to  forgot  one  thing.     Here  is  a  letter 


1 82  SELF-MADE,   OR 

for  ye's,  that  will  tell  you  what's  inside  the  box,  and  who  it's 
from.  God  bless  you  !  for  you  are  a  good  child." 

The  man  was  gone ;  and  there  stood  Nettie,  bewildered, 
not  knowing  exactly  what  to  do  next.  She  brushed  away 
the  tears  she  was  unconsciously  shedding,  when  her  little 
sister  exclaimed,  — 

"  See,,  they  are  dropping  on  the  letter !  " 

"  Let  the  box  contain  what  it  may,"  she  whispered,  half 
audibly,  "  this  is  from  her.  I  had  rather  lose  all  the  box 
contains  than  this!"  She  clasped  it  closely  to  her  heart, 
and  rained  kisses  upon  it ;  while  her  father  was  summoned 
from  the  field  to  break  the  seal :  she  had  not  the  courage  to 
take  such  a  responsibility  upon  herself. 

I  laughed  heartily  in  concert  with  "  aunt  Bessie,"  when 
she  said  this;  and  for  the  first  time  since  the  peremptory 
silence  had  been  enjoined,  I  was  permitted  to  ask  questions 
and  make  comments. 

"  What  was  in  the  box,  auntie?  " 

"  All  in  good  time,  my  dear." 

"  I  would  not  have  been  five  minutes  in  opening  the  box. 
The  letter  I  could  read  afterwards." 

"  Yes  ;  but  you  forget  that  it  was  Nettie's  first  letter,  and 
that  is  quite  a  pleasant  thing  to  remember  by  those  whose 
lives  have  been  far  more  eventful  than  was  this  little  country 
maiden's.  To  her  a  simple  event  —  like  the  receiving  of  a 
letter  —  was  a  matter  of  some  importance." 

"  The  box !  the  box !  "  exclaimed  I.  "  Leave  Nettie  and 
her  father  to  spell  out  the  contents  of  the  letter,  and  tell  me 
all  the  contents  of  that  mysterious  parcel.  Gay  dresses  and 
beautiful  presents,  bought  in  the  city  for  Nettie  and  the 
children  !  I  have  thought,  many  a  time,  how  delighted  / 
should  be,  could  I  be  the  recipient  of  such  treasures.  To 
sit  on  the  carpet,  unfolding  parcel  after  parcel,  and  be  sur- 
prised with  things  new,  and  beautiful,  and  strange,  such  as 


LIVING   FOR  THOSE   WE   LOVE.  183 

I  never  saw  before !  I  almost  envy  Nettie  the  pleasure  of 
opening  the  box ;  but  then  she  had  so  few  pleasures,  poor 
thing !  " 

"  Gay  dresses  and  beautiful  things  would  hardly  be  in 
keeping  with  a  humble  home  like  hers ;  and  her  friend 
would  have  displayed  little  taste,  and  less  judgment,  had  she 
sent  such.  There  were  only  useful  articles ;  but  we  ought 
always  to  combine  the  beautiful  and  the  useful :  besides,  I 
would  rather  be  the  giver  than  the  receiver.  Which,  think 
you,  was  the  happier,  Grace  or  Nettie?  " 

"  It  is  hard  to  decide." 

"  Have  a  little  patience,  my  dear :  we  will  do  as  Nettie 
did,  —  read  Grace's  letter  first." 


184  SELF-MADE,   OR 


CHAPTER   XXI. 
LETTERS  AND  PRESENTS. 

Slowly  folding,  how  she  lingered 
O'er  the  words  his  hand  had  traced, 

Though  the  plashing  drops  had  fallen, 
And  the  faint  lines  half  effaced !  " 

MRS.  NEAL. 


Y  DEAR  FRIEND  NETTIE  :  I  have  made  myself 
quite  busy  for  a  day  or  two  packing  the  things 
you  will  find  in  the  box.  I  only  hope  the  un- 
packing will  afford  you  as  much  pleasure.  But 
I  doubt  if  you  will  be  happier  in  their  possession  than  I  have 
been  in  the  purchasing  and  making  up.  The  books  are  se- 
lected from  my  own  library,  with  the  exception  of  the  '  set ' 
of  school  Readers,  Dictionary,  and  Copy-books.  These  I  pur- 
chased expressly  for  you  ;  the  Readers  will  be  useful  to  the 
children  after  you  have  done  with  them.  The  stationery,  and 
all  that  is  in  the  writing-case,  —  the  writing-case  itself,  —  are 
presents  from  Mark ;  and  the  little  bundle  tied  with  a  pink 
cord  you  will  please  deliver  to  his  mother.  All  the  others 
are  marked  with  the  addresses  of  their  respective  owners.  I 
hope  the  mantel-vases  will  not  get  broken,  for  they  are  really 
pretty  ;  and  when  you  place  fresh  flowers  in  them  you  must 
think  of  the  giver,  who  is  always  thinking  of  you,  and  who 
loves  you  dearly.  I  have  guessed  at  the  size  of  the  little 
girls'  frocks  and  pinafores  and  the  boys'  jackets.  I  hope 
none  of  them  will  be  too  small ;  if  too  large,  you  will  have 
to  alter  and  make  them  fit.  The  little  work-basket,  with  the 


LIVING   FOR   THOSE   WE   LOVE.  185 

thimble,  needle-case,  scissors,  and  bundles  of  patchwork,  is 
for  sister  Susan,  who  must  be  quite  a  large  girl  —  and  a  good 
girl,  too.  I  wonder  if  she  remembers  me.  Ask  her  if  she 
remembers  my  rocking  her  to  sleep  in  my  arms  the  night 
that  —  the  night  I  staid  at  your  house.  I  presume  the  little 
thing  has  forgotten;  but,  Nettie  dear,  I  jean  never  grow  so 
old  as  to  forget. 

"  The  larger  basket,  with  the  full  set  of  sewing  materials, 
combs,  and  brushes,  is  for  you  ;  the  slippers  and  cravat  are 
for  your  father.  I  hope  the  dresses  will  suit  you.  The  dark 
one,  if  you  do  not  need  it  sooner,  will  make  you  a  nice  win- 
ter dress.  I  would  have  made  this,  too,  but  Mrs.  Miller 
writes  that  you  have  grown  so  tall  we  should  not  know  you. 
I  have  put  in  a  pattern  to  cut  it  by,  and  also  a  new-fashioned 
sleeve-pattern,  which  I  think  quite  pretty. 

"  And  now,  dear  Nettie,  I  come  to  the  smaller  box  of 
bulbs  and  seeds  for  your  garden.  A  little  bird  has  told  me 
how  neatly  it  is  laid  out,  and  how  nicely  it  is  looking. 
These  will  be  just  in  time  for  the  spring's  planting.  Bulb- 
ous roots  need  a  rich,  soft  loam,  and  plenty  of  sunshine.  I 
would  make,  for  the  tulips,  two  beds  of  an  oval  shape  —  one 
each  side  of  the  main  walk.  A  good  many  of  them  are 
already  sprouted,  and  will  blossom  this  year.  The  narcissus 
and  jonquilles  make  beautiful  borders;  but  they  are  very 
choice  :  I  can  only  send  a  few.  The  daisies  you  can  divide, 
and  subdivide,  and  make  all  the  bordering  you  want.  The 
gladiolus  and  dahlias  plant  in  hills  wherever  you  wish  them 
to  stand.  After  they  have  done  blossoming,  and  before  the 
ground  freezes,  all  these  bulbs  must  be  taken  up,  and  kept 
where  they  will  not  freeze,  in  a  barrel  of  dry  sand,  placed  in 
the  cellar.  This  is  the  surest  way  of  preserving  them.  I 
give  you  these  minute  particulars,  because  I  have  taken  great 
pains  to  get  these  bulbs,  and,  until  quite  recently,  few  have 
known  how  to  manage  them. 

"  I  have  packed  the  potted  plants  so  I  think  they  will  go 


1 86  SELF-MADE,   OR 

*- 

safely.  I  was  obliged  to  cut  the  tops  off;  but  they  will  soon 
bud  out  fresh  and  new,  and  grow  to  be  large  plants.  There 
are  seven  kinds  of  geraniums,  and  some  monthly  roses.  You 
have  a  splendid  place  for  these  in  your  two  south  windows. 
The  little  leafless  shrub  in  the  smallest  vase  is  a  '  forget-me- 
not.'  Plant  this  where  the  light  and  sunshine  rest  warmest 
and  brightest.  There  are  fifty  varieties  of  seeds,  comprising 
the  useful  as  well  as  the  ornamental.  Some  of  the  annuals 
are  beautiful  —  the  pink,  and  white,  and  purple  china-aster, 
the  double  and  variegated  lady's-slipper,  four-o'clocks,  mari- 
golds, mignonette,  pinks,  and  lavender.  You  may  have 
some  of  these  seeds  already,  and  can  make  whatever  selec- 
tions your  taste  dictates ;  and,  if  }7ou  like,  divide  with  your 
neighbours. 

"  You  will  find  my  letter  a  very  practical  one  ;  but  I  hope 
to  write  you  many  more  ;  and  if,  amid  your  thousand  cares, 
you  can  find  time  to  answer  some  of  them,  it  would  please 
me  much.  Looking  forward  to  a  happy  meeting  some- 
where in  the  hereafter,  —  if  not  in  this  world,  in  the  one  to 
come,  when  all  that  has  made  our  lives  sorrowful  shall  have 
passed  away  and  been  forgotten,  — 

"  I  remain,  ever  your  affectionate  friend, 

"  GRACE  PEARSON." 

It  was  after  nightfall  ere  the  pleasant  task  of  "  unpacking" 
was  accomplished.  The  children  were  nearly  wild  with 
excitement ;  but  Nettie's  was  a  less  demonstrative  joy,  par- 
taking more  of  a  feeling  of  gratitude  to  be  thus  remembered 
by  the  two  beings  who  were  to  her  the  day-stars  of  her  dark- 
ened existence.  The  night-dew  dropped  upon  her  hand  as 
she  passed  under  the  low  arch  of  woodbine  ;  but  the  dew 
that  lay  upon  her  heart  was  sweeter  than  all  the  distillations 
of  flowers. 

She  crept  to  the  great  open  attic  where  her  bed  was,  be- 
fore venturing  to  unlock  the  little  writing-case.  In  it  was  a 


LIVING  FOR   THOSE  WE   LOVE.  187 

short  note  from  Mark  to  herself,  and  a  long  letter  to  his 
mother.  Besides  these,  there  was  pink,  blue,  and  white 
writing-paper,  —  and  a  great  quantity  of  it ;  for  Mark  said 
she  must  learn  to  write  neatly,  and  that  he  considered  it 
"  one  of  the  greatest  of  feminine  accomplishments."  Then 
there  were  pens  and  penknife,  wafers,  sealing-wax,  and  a 
beautiful  little  inkstand,  with  a  silver  stopper.  Was  ever 
anything  half  so  pretty  ? 

It  was  a  long,  long  night  to  Nettie,  —  the  longest  she  had 
ever  known,  except  that  terrible  one  when  her  mother  died. 
Whether  she  sat  by  the  window,  looking  out  into  the  dark- 
ness, or  knelt  at  the  low  bedside,  the  one  night  was  somehow 
strangely  blended  with  the  other.  Then,  a  feeling  of  awe 
and  desolation  crept  over  her,  as  she  contemplated  her 
future  life  of  toil,  —  unloved,  alone,  without  the  mother's 
hand  to  guide  or  lips  to  counsel.  She  knelt  then,  as  now, 
in  the  same  cold  attic ;  but  the  soothing  tears  refused  to 
flow :  she  wondered  why  she  could  not  weep.  Her  lips 
moved  not :  she  marvelled  at  their  silence.  But  their  trem- 
bling revealed  the  anguish  of  a  troubled  spirit  prostrate 
before  its  Maker.  Now,  the  world  was  brighter  —  the  dark- 
ness was  not  felt.  Tears  would  come.  A  grateful  joy  was 
swelling  in  her  bosom,  and  the  words  gushed  warm  and 
ardent  from  her  parted  lips,  "  Make  me  worthy  of  their 
love  and  friendship,  O  my  Father  !  "  murmured  she.  "  Grant 
me  strength,  patience,  and  intelligence,  to  become  all  they 
would  have  me,  and  all  Thou  wouldst  have  me.  Be  Thou 
my  Pattern,  my  Guide,  my  Saviour,  through  life  and  in 
death !  " 

The  following  week  a  letter  was  despatched  by  post, 
breathing  words  of  unaffected  gratitude,  acknowledging  the 
kindness  of  her  friends,  and  asking  further  instructions 
relative  to  planting,  pruning,  watering,  and  harvesting  the 
precious  seeds  and  bulbs.  It  was  written  in  a  small,  child- 
ish, cramped  hand,  and  some  of  the  words  not  correctly 


1 88  SELF-MADE,    OR 

spelled.  But  Grace,  in  her  answers,  —  which  were  always 
punctual,  —  delicately  corrected  these,  and  all  other  mis- 
takes, and  craved  the  pleasing  office  of  mentor  and  instruc- 
tress. From  this  time  they  became  regular  and  frequent 
correspondents. 

The  books  were  her  greatest  treasures  ;  and  scarcely  a  day 
passed  that  she  did  not  snatch  some  little  moment  from  the 
increasing  cares  which  every  year  added  to  her  store,  and 
devote  it  to  study  or  reading.  In  many  of  them  she  found 
pencil-marks,  and  notes  on  the  margin,  in  the  handwriting 
of  Grace,  showing  they  had  been  carefully  perused  by  her, 
calling  her  attention  to  this  and  that  charming  passage,  or 
expressing  admiration  of  some  beautiful  sentiment. 

The  seeds  were  sown,  the  bulbs  planted,  and  the  pots  set 
in  the  warm  sunshine  in  the  south  windows.  In  Nettie's 
heart  was  also  set  a  germ  which  in  time  would  bear  fruit 
abundantly,  though  for  a  season  it  lay  within  its  wintry  tomb 
of  gloom  and  darkness,  though  its  fresh  young  shoots  were 
often  forced  back  upon  themselves,  and  their  growth  retarded 
by  the  uncongenial  soil  from  which  they  received  their  life 
principle.  But  the  spirit,  like  the  bulbs  and  seeds,  was 
heroically  struggling  for  the  light,  and  gathering  daily 
aliment  from  each  and  every  energizing  influence  around  it, 
expanding  and  growing  heavenward  day  by  day. 

Two  years  later  'Nettie  wrote,  in  a  bold,  beautiful,  femi- 
nine hand,  as  follows  :  — 

"MY  DEAR,  KIND  FRIEND:  Your  letter  of  May  first, 
together  with  the  little  box  of  presents,  came  yesterday. 
Both  assure  me  of  your  continued  friendship  and  sympathy. 
Thank  you  for  them.  I  find  it  most  difficult  to  talk  or  write 
when  my  heart  is  fullest ;  and  I  have  vainly  sought  for  an 
hour  when  the  tide  of  joy  or  grief  (I  hardly  know  which  to 
call  it)  that  fills  my  heart  would  ebb  away,  and  leave  me 


LIVING   FOR   THOSE   WE   LOVE.  189 

calm,  and  in  a  mood  to  reply  to  you  as  I  ought.  I  long  to 
see  you,  to  have  you  by  my  side,  to  hold  your  hand  in  mine, 
to  look  into  your  eyes,  and  then  perhaps  I  could  tell  you  all 
that  is  in  my  heart,  —  all  its  joys,  its  sorrows,  its  hopes,  fears, 
and  aspirations.  I  feel  that  my  words  would  not  be  poured 
into  a  listless  ear.  I  remember  myself  as  you  first  saw  me ; 
I  remember  my  home  as  it  was  then,  and  wonder  much  what 
you  could  find  in  either  to  occupy  your  further  thoughts. 
Probably  you  saw  in  both  something  on  which  you  could 
bestow  your  great  benevolence  —  something  which  you  could 
improve.  A  thousand  thanks,  dear  friend,  for  your  flattering 
encomiums  on  my  own  progress!  '  Proud  of  my  letters'? 
and  '  showing  them  to  your  friends '  ?  when  I  cautioned  you 
to  hide  or  burn  them?  They  must  be  more  studied  in  future. 
Yet  I  will  not  scold  my  best  friend  ;  for  all  I  am  I  owe,  with 
God's  grace  assisting  me,  to  you,  my  more  than  sister.  Your 
thoughtfulness  and  generosity  have  made  of  our  cheerless 
home  the  little  paradise  it  now  is.  It  has  gone  on  steadi- 
ly improving,  from  the  day  your  first  invoice  of  treasures 
came.  And  always  since  then,  in  the  sweet  spring-time,  our 
little  home  has  been  in  a  tumult  of  joy :  such  planning  and 
advising  about  the  beds  in  the  garden,  —  such  rearranging 
in  doors  and  out,  that  at  last  I  am  quite  contented  when  all 
is  complete. 

"  Never  did  the  earth,  '  with  the  blue  above,  and  the  green 
below,'  look  so  beautiful  to  me  as  it  does  this  spring.  It 
seems  as  if  it  might  indeed  be  the  '  threshold  of  heaven.' 
And  never  did  our  home  look  so  pleasant  as  now.  Every 
shrub  and  plant  looks  so  beautiful,  and  the  weather  is  so 
charming !  One  can  almost  see  them  grow.  Who  would 
have  thought,  two  months  ago,  that  all  those  little  bare  twigs 
would  now  be  full  of  fresh  young  sprouts,  and  tender  leaves, 
and  lovely  buds  bursting  into  blossom?  or  that  within  those 
dry  bulbs  (which  the  boys  call  little  onions)  was  concealed 
such  unrivalled  beauty?  Is  it  so,  then,  dear  Grace,  that  we 


IC)0  SELF-MADE,    OR 

too  must  lie  low  in  the  dust,  ere  our  souls  can  be  clothed 
with  that  glorious  beauty  and  perfection  which  God  designs 
for  us?  It  seems  to  me  a  great  miracle.  Yet  God  can  work 
a  greater  than  this. 

"  You  surmised  correctly  when  you  asked  after  my  '  in- 
ci'easing  cares '  and  my  '  little  spare  time.'  It  is  true. 
Every  year  brings  an  accumulation  of  care  ;  for  the  poultry 
increases,  and  the  dairy  is  large,  and  there  is  more  flax  and 
wool  to  spin ;  but  I  am  growing  older  and  stronger,  and  it 
lightens  half  the  toil  to  see  things  going  on  so  nicely.  I 
shall  make  a  long  piece  of  cloth  this  year,  and  do  it  all  my- 
self. I  fetch  my  wheel,  and  spin  on  the  portico  overlooking 
the  garden  ;  and  the  warm  sunshine  peeping  through  the 
sweet  vine-leaves,  and  the  garden  itself,  make  me  very 
happy.  But  it  is  altogether  a  home-happiness ;  and  as  my 
heart  is  brim  full  just  now,  I  care  for  no  other,  or  the  extra 
work  the  seasons  bring. 

"  The  snow-balls  and  peonies  are  now  in  full  bloom.  I  have 
just  filled  your  little  vases  with  them,  and  some  smaller  ones 
with  locust-blossoms  and  lilacs,  with  a  dear  little  crocus 
peeping  out  in  the  centre..  They  are  on  the  mantel-shelf  in 
the  west  room,  where  dear  little  Janie  lay  that  night.  I 
have  a  bright,  home-made  carpet  on  the  floor,  and  Mr. 
Sloper  has  given  me  such  a  beautiful  case  for  the  books, 
with  glass  doors,  and  a  drawer  at  the  bottom  for  my  nice 
things.  The  cheerful,  kind-hearted  old  man  comes  up  to 
see  us  occasionally,  praising  me  more  than  I  deserve,  and 
advising  me  when  I  am  in  a  strait.  I  delivered  Mrs.  Love- 
land's  parcel  to  her  mother,  and  the  kind  messages  you  sent. 
She  is  always  pleased  to  hear  about  you,  and  sends  much 
love  in  return.  Susan  is  just  now  busy  setting' out  our  little 
family  of  house-plants,  to  give  them  their  daily  shower-bath 
of  water  and  sunshine.  Benny  is  helping  to  carry  the  smaller 
ones,  insisting  that  he  '  never  did  break  one]  and  is  quite 
sure  he  '  never  'will.'  These  are  our  special  '  pets.'  Not 


LIVING   FOR    THOSE    WE    LOVE.  IQI 

only  are  the  two  south  windows  filled  to  overflowing,  but  — 
thanks  to  James's  mechanical  genius  —  the  whole  south  end 
of  the  porch  is  converted  into  a  conservatory.  Every  fresh 
rose-bud  and  sweet-scented  geranium  leaf  remind  us  of  the 
dear  friend  to  whom  we  are  so  largely  indebted.  We  all 
have  our  favourites  among  them,  or  make  otirselves  believe 
we  have,  just  for  the  pleasure  of  saying  my  and  mine. 
Emma  likes  the  calla  and  the  blue  violets  best.  Heaven 
grant  her  spirit  may  be  as  pure  and  beautiful  as  the  one,  as 
meek  and  sweet  as  the  other.  Frank  pays  daily  homage  to 
a  heliotrope,  which  he  affirms  to  be  the  finest  plant  in  the 
lot.  If  I  have  a  preference,  it  is  for  the  sweet-scented  ver- 
bena, or  lemon-balm,  as  some  call  it.  And  Lydia's  decided 
^preference  for  fuchsias  may  be  learned  when  pleading  for 
4  just  two,  to  make  ear-rings  with.'  Her  little  winning  ways 
.re  always  irresistible ;  and  we  generally  gratify  her,  for  she 
.icver  presumes  to  pluck  one  of  these  house-flowers  without 
the  consent  of  some  one  older.  To  keep  temptation  out  of 
her  way,  we  have  placed  this  flower  on  the  top  pedestal, 
or  step,  of  our  pyramid-shaped  plant-stand  ;  but  she  looks 
with  such  a  wistful  eye,  we  often  hold  her  up  to  it,  just  to 
see  how  carefully  she  snips  off  the  delicate  stems.  Then 
sister  must  hang  them  on  her  yellow  curls,  '  to  make  ear- 
rings ; '  and  then  there  are  two  little  diamonds  in  her  eyes 
the  rest  of  the  day.  She  is  our  little  '  wee  lammie,'  you  know, 
given  us  when  mother  died,  —  the  pet  and  petted  of  all,  yet, 
strange  to  say,  not  spoiled.  God  grant  her  life  be  not  as 
mine,  —  so  full  of  care  and  toil,  —  a  constant  yearning  for 
something  unattained. 

"  The  boys  are  stout,  healthy,  robust  fellows,  and  will  be 
able  to  cope  with  the  toils,  and,  I  hope,  the  ills  of  life,  like 
men  ;  and  the  sisters  are  strong  and  healthy,  too  ;  but  when 
I  look  at  them,  wondering  what  their  future  may  be,  I  pray 
God  it  may  be  different  from  mine.  I  have  kept  them  almost 
constantly  at  school ;  and  it  cost  me  a  deal  of  labour  to  make 


192  SELF-MADE,    OR 

them  always  look  clean  and  neat,  before  that  great  bundle 
of  frocks  and  pinafores  came.  We  owe  you  more  than  we 
can  ever  pay,  for  the  many  '  little  trifles '  which  you  seem 
to  regard  as  '  things  not  worth  mentioning.'  Small  as  they 
were  to  you,  they  were  of  inestimable  value  to  us.  But, 
thanks  to  our  increasing  prosperity,  we  are  now  enjoying 
the  fruits  of  our  industry  and  patient  toil,  and  the  children 
look  as  well  as  our  neighbours'.  Sometimes  it  troubles  me, 
when  I  think,  '  What  will  become  of  me,  when  they  are  all 
married  and  in  homes  of  their  own?'  But  that  is  looking 
far  ahead ;  and  I  take  my  Bible  and  read  those  sweet  pas- 
sages about  the  lilies  and  the  sparrows,  and  am  comforted. 
Our  future  is  hidden  from  us,  just  as  the  germ  was  hidden 
within  those  dry  husks.  They  have  burst  their  shells,  and 
are  now  springing  into  life  and  beauty,  making  unto  them- 
selves a  world  of  loveliness,  and  for  me  a  world  of  reflec- 
tion. 

'  They  breathe 

Their  lives  so  unobtrusively,  like  hearts 
Whose  beatings  are  too  gentle  for  the  world.' 

And  so  I  am  content  to  abide  in  my  little  home-sphere,  and 
to  have  my  body  planted  on  the  hill-side  yonder,  under  the 
grassy  turf  where  the  warm  sunshine  rests,  or, 

'  Swathed  in  the  snowy  robe  that  winter  throws 
So  kindly  over  Nature.' 

In  that  glorious  morning  when 

'  awakening  Nature  hears 
The  new-creating  word,  and  starts  to  life,' 

I  shall  know  my  destiny,  and  what  my  all-wise  Father  de- 
signs to  make  me.  Yet  of  one  thing  I  am  quite  sure  —  that 
my  steps  will  be  directed  of  Him  who  orders  everything  by 
the  highest  wisdom  and  love.  I  have  longed  to  do  some 
good  in  the  world  ;  but  the  thought  that  God  has  given  me 


LIVING   FOR    THOSE    WE    LOVE.  193 

my  vocation,  consecrates  my  humblest  duties,  and  makes 
me,  O,  so  thankful  that  I  am  spared  to  my  family,  and  hope- 
ful that  my  simple  avocations  may  even  please  Him.  This 
thought  brings  sweetness  to  my  heart,  like  the  fragrance  in 
the  air  from  the  falling  apple-blossoms,  and  the  showers  of 
rain  dripping  from  the  heliotrope. 

"  Can  we  ever  hope,  dear  Grace,  —  the  best  of  us,  —  to 
find  in  this  life  that  genuine  Christian  excellence  to  which 
our  hearts  aspire?  that  intelligence  and  perfection  which 
they  long  for?  It  seems  too  sublime  a  thing  for  me  —  in  this 
work-day  world  —  to  attain.  It  is  only  for  those  who  have 
leisure  to  study  and  improve  themselves  —  who  are  sur- 
rounded by  pleasing  scenes  and  refined  associations.  I  have 
no  envy  in  my  heart  for  people  who  enjoy  these  privileges. 
I  only  wish  I  could  enjoy  them  too,  and  climb  to  those 
heights  where  my  knowledge  and  experience  would  gain 
me  the  companionship  of  the  great  and  good,  and  my  ex- 
ample be  thought  worthy  of  imitation.  But  my  path  must 
ever  be  a  lowly  one ;  my  world  a  little  matter-of-fact,  every- 
day, common-place  existence ;  my  life  such  as  are  the  lives 
of  thousands  who  live,  and  die,  and  are  forgotten. 

"  In  a  dreamy  summer  afternoon  like  this,  when,  for  the 
moment,  I  forget  stubborn  facts,  and  sweet  fancy  becomes 
my  interpreter,  we  —  the  winged  wanderer  and  I  —  soar 
away  through  fields  of  thought,  far  from  this  little  home- 
sphere  of  toil  and  self-denial,  and  we  say  to  ourselves,  that 
some  time  in  the  hereafter  a  little  leisure  may  be  ours, 
wherein  we  can  put  into  execution  the  plans  and  desires 
formed  in  the  days  of  our  early  companionship.  Now  and 
then  something  like  a  di'eam  of  this  happy  hour  will  visit 
my  sleepless  pillow  ;  but  it  will  never  be,  dear  Grace  :  facts 
are  too  stern,  and  my  life  too  real  a  thing,  to  admit  of  much 
fanciful  dreaming. 

"  Do  you  still  think  that  '  our  meeting  was  accidental'?  — 
that  your  '  short  stay  in  the  little  rural  village  '  was  a  thing 


104  SELF-MADE,    OR 

of  chance  merely?  Dear  friend,  you  were  sent  to  me;  7 
needed  you;  and  your  steps  were  ordered  by  our  One  'All 
Father.'  And  now  you  are  a  part  of  myself.  I  could  not 
do  without  you.  Your  coming  and  going  seem  like  a  pleas- 
ant dream !  Yet  it  was  no  dream,  for  the  blessed  reality 
lingers  still.  Do  not  I  see  the  happy  results  of  that  '  short 
stay '  all  around  me?  You  are  pleased  to  say  the  '  meeting' 
was  for  '  our  mutual  good  ; '  that  here  you  learned  '  lessons 
of  humility  and  self-forgetfulness.'  We  were,  indeed,  apt 
scholars,  could  a  month's  tuition  always  leave  such  a  lasting, 
wide-spread  influence  —  an  influence  for  good  only.  And 
yet,  did  I  not,  during  that  '  short  stay,'  learn  something 
which  has  actuated  my  whole  after-life?  Have  I  not  since 
then  striven  to  emulate  the  example  of  that  one  friend  who 
taught  me  to  '  breast  the  wind,  and  wrestle  with  the  storm '? 
fo  love  the  beauties  of  nature,  and  to  see,  in  the  stern  and 
rugged,  attractions  which  might  have  passed  forever  un- 
heeded? That  great,  verdureless  mountain,  once  looked 
upon  as  a  formidable  enemy,  has,  since  we  stood  upon  the 
brow  of  our  own  little  hill-side,  and  talked  of  its  grandeur, 
become  an  object  of  greater  interest  to  me  than  many  an- 
other that  excited  my  childish  admiration.  Since  then,  I 
have  loved  the  bold  and  rugged,  the  stern  and  grand,  better 
than  the  simply  beautiful  things  of  earth. 

"  The  most  beautiful  are  generally  the  most  delicate  ;  they 
need  something  to  lean  upon,  —  something  to  trust  to, — just 
as  those  little,  meek,  blue-eyed  violets  need  to  grow  in  the 
shade  of  some  shrub,  whose  protecting  foliage  nurtures  and 
enhances  their  modest  beauty  ;  or  that  little  heavenly  forget- 
me-not  requires  some  stout,  tough  stick  to  support  its  fragile 
stems. 

"  Much  as  I  love  these  delicate,  dependent  little  treasures, 
I  would  not  be  like  them.  Neither  cotdd  I  be,  here  at  home, 
where  it  has  become  a  necessity  for  me  to  be  the  one  on 
which  others  lean.  To  my  brothers  and  sisters  I  seem  the 


LIVING    FOR    THOSE    WE    LOVE.  195 

'  supporting  pillar,'  and  sometimes,  to  my  father,  I  am  not 
unlike  '  Help '  pulling  poor  '  Christian '  out  of  the  '  Slough  of 
Despond.'  I  often  think,  What  would  become  of  us  all,  were 
I  one  of  those  dependent  little  creatures,  who,  like  some  frail 
vine,  lives  by  clinging  to  and  drawing  its  sustenance  from 
some  stronger  and  sterner  nature?  Can  you  imagine  your 
little  rustic  friend  occupying  such  an  exalted  position  ? 

"  This  evening  I  was  sitting  under  our  little  arbour  of  jessa- 
mine, watching  the  shadows  of  the  great  hills  creep  over  the 
valleys  beneath,  and  listening  to  the  birds  singing  their  '  even- 
ing song  to  the  sunset.'  They  sang  so  long  and  loud,  I  won- 
dered how  their  breath  could  hold  out !  I  sat  until  the  shade 
grew  dense.  The  breeze  had  rocked  the  birdies  to  sleep,  the 
stars  lit  up  their  leafy  homes,  the  fireflies  vying  with  the 
starlight,  and  the  starlight  with  the  moonlight,  until  the 
whole  shone  with  a  supernal  splendor.  I  thought  of  my 
dear  friend,  far  away  in  the  great  city,  with  its  hot  pavements, 
dusty  streets,  and  vast  aggregation  of  brick  and  mortar,  and 
wondered  much  if  there  the  sunsets  were  so  charming,  or 
the  starlight  nights  so  heavenly ;  or  if  such  numbers  of  gay 
butterflies  and  glossy  humming-birds,  '  like  gems  and  blos- 
soms on  pinions,'  flit  around  your  home  ;  whether  your  ear 
ever  catches  the  wild  words  of  the  whip-poor-will,  or  the 
saddened  strain  of  the  mournful  dove,  — 

'  Singing  her  sorrows  through  the  night, 
Till  wide  around  the  woods 
Sigh  to  her  song,  and  with  her  wail  resound.' 

"  I  am  writing  you  a  long,  and,  I  fear  you  will  think,  a 
very  prosy  letter.  My  dear  friend  will  excuse  the  rambling 
style,  and  lack  of  more  interesting  topics.  I  have  written 
upon  the  inspiration  of  the  hour,  as  the  thoughts  came  to 
me,  but  at  intervals  such  as  I  could  command.  If  I  have 
enlarged  upon  our  little  home-scenes,  and  talked  exclusively 
of  our  small  domestic  world,  it  is  because  I  know  but  little 


196  SELF-MADE,    OR 

of  any  other.  All  I  hear  of  the  great  world  outside  is  what 
you  write  me,  and  sometimes  Mrs.  Miller  reads  to  me  por- 
tions of  Mark's  letters,  which  are  always  full  of  interest. 
Occasionally  a  stray  newspaper  finds  its  way  to  our  place, 
from  which  I  gather  information. 

"  And  now,  dear  friend,  I  must  bring  my  letter  to  a  close. 
Be  sure  you  write  me  as  long  a  one  in  return.  One  day  I 
hope  to  welcome' you  to  our  home.  When  shall  it  be?  I 
will  promise  to  be  very  good,  and  not  monopolize  you  alto- 
gether. You  will  find  the  place  much  improved.  I  think  it 
a  beautiful  town ;  but  having  never  seen  any  other,  perhaps 
I  am  not  a  good  judge.  As  regards  myself  and  my  sur- 
roundings, the  little  gypsy's  prophecy  is  fulfilled  — '  In  due 
season  ye  shall  reap,  if  ye  faint  not.' 

"  That  ypu  may  be  ever  happy,  is  the  prayer  of  your 
friend, 

"  NETTIE  STRANGE." 


LIVING  FOR  THOSE   WE   LOVE. 


CHAPTER   XXII. 
MR.  NEWELL  AND  MARK  GO  TO  NEW  YORK. 

"  Thy  voice  is  a  complaint,  O  crowned  city, 
The  blue  sky  covering  thee,  like  God's  great  pity." 

BARRETT. 

||R.  NEWELL  and  Mark  were  on  their  way  to  the 
great  metropolis,  or  rather  on  the  road  to  Mal- 
lowfield,  where  they  were  to  take  the  stage.    One 
of  the  "  hands "  drove  them  out,  returning   the 
same  day  with  the  carriage. 

The  day  was  charming ;  the  turnpike  smooth  and  level ; 
the  carriage,  with  its  silver  trimmings  and  soft,  luxurious 
cushions ;  the  span  of  superb  "  bays  "  stepping  over  the 
ground  so  loftily,  were  enough  to  warm  the  soul  of  a  Stoic. 
But  Mark  was  no  Stoic ;  and  this  was  his  first  ride  in  any 
vehicle  more  elegant  than  Mr.  Sloper's  little  spring-waggon, 
in  which  he  had  sometimes  taken  a  grist  to  mill.  He  ques- 
tioned in  his  mind  whether  or  not  that  light,  one-horse 
waggon  —  with  its  elastic  springs,  and  shining  coat  of  green 
paint,  striped  all  around  with  yellow  —  might  not  with  pro- 
priety claim  some  relationship  with  gentility,  inasmuch  as 
its  owner  was  a  good,  and  great,  and  rich  man.  He  turned 
the  momentous  thought  over  and  over  in  his  mind,  until  he 
arrived  at  the  conclusion  that  it  might,  and  ought.  He  was 
not  going  to  be  bribed  into  forgetfulness  of,  or  to  look  con- 
temptuously upon,  aught  belonging  to  "  Sorrel  Hill." 

Away  they  spun,  over  the  smooth  road,  on  that  calm 


198  SELF-MADE,   OR 

summer  morning.  Its  bracing  and  delicious  atmosphere 
gave  to  Mark's  eye  and  cheek  an  unwonted  brightness. 
Besides,  his  heart  was  all  a-glow  with  the  prospect  before 
him,  and  with  the  pleasing  memories  of  the  past  month. 
Even  the  "  leave-taking,"  which  he  had  dreaded  nearly  as 
much  as  the  parting  from  mother  and  home,  was  over ;  and 
now,  in  the  society  of  one  whom  he  has  learned  to  love  and 
trust,  with  his  purse  a  little  replenished,  he  is  once  more  on 
his  journey. 

Mallowfield  was  ten  miles  distant ;  and  they  entered  the 
town  just  in  time  to  catch  the  shrill  notes  of  the  stage  horn, 
echoing  long  and  loud  among  the  distant  hills,  — 

"  Waking  the  woods  to  new  music." 

Mark's  heart  thrilled  with  rapture,  and  was  drawn  for  the 
time  away  from  the  perplexing  cares  and  wild  visions  which 
for  many  a  month  had  engrossed  it.  The  stopping  of  the 
carriage,  and  the  arrival  of  the  stage  at  the  same  moment, 
gave  him  no  time  for  further  reflections. 

The  panting  steeds,  weary  with  their  spirited  travel,  cov- 
ered with  fleck,  waited  patiently  for  their  cool  retreat  in  the 
stable.  They  were  soon  removed,  and  fresh  ones  attached, 
*  whose  proud  step,  handsome  arched  necks,  and  glossy  hides, 
showed  that  there  was  mettle  in  them,  and  their  restless  paw- 
ing of  the  ground,  that  they  were  impatient  to  display  it. 
Mark  was  eighteen,  and  had  never  before  seen  a  stage  coach. 
The  little  lumbering  vehicle  that  came  once  a  week  to  "  the 
hill,"  to  bring  the  mail,  and  occasionally  a  passenger,  or  little 
articles  of  trade  for  the  farmers,  was  quite  a  different  con- 
cern from  the  one  in  which  our  young  traveller  found  him- 
self so  comfortably  seated.  The  farther  he  proceeded  on 
his  journey,  the  more  he  saw  and  learned.  During  his 
three  days'  travel  he  had  time  to  take  up  the  thi-ead  of  his 
disjointed  reflections,  —  which  his  stop  at  Mallowfield  had 
interrupted,  —  and  weave  it  into  a  beautiful  web.  Upon 


LIVING   FOR   THOSE   WE   LOVE.  199 

the  shining  fabric  was  wrought  his  own  fair  destiny  —  "  clear 
as  mud,"  said  he,  awakening  from  a  lengthy  nap,  in  which 
he  had  been  dreaming,  he  was  sorry  he  could  not  remember 
what. 

"  Were  I  less  merciful,  we  would  follow  along  in  his  train 
of  thought,  describing  all  the  scenery  between  Mallowfield 
and  New  York,  the  subjects  of  discourse  among  the  passen- 
gers, and  every  minutia  of  incident." 

"  Spare  me,  dear,  good  aunt  Bessie !  I  do  detest  long 
descriptions  of  scenery.  I  always  skip  that  part  of  a  story. 
Please  leave  Mark  to  his  sublime  reveries,  his  naps  and 
dreams,  and  tell  me  what  he  thought  of  New  York.  I 
know  there's  something  rich  coming." 

"  If  by  '  something  rich '  you  mean  a  laughable  account 
of  a  young  country  lad's  shy,  awkward  demeanor,  or  amus- 
ing adventures,  while  being  shown  around  the  city,  I  fear 
you  will  be  disappointed.  He  was  in  company  of  a  kind- 
hearted  gentleman,  who,  '  for  value  received,'  to  use  his  own 
words,  meant  to  pay  ofF  some  of  his  indebtedness.  To  can- 
cel the  whole  he  felt  would  be  impossible.  One  object  Mr. 
Newell  had  in  bringing  Mark  to  New  York,  was  to  show 
him  something  of  real  life,  —  not  as  he  had  seen  it  in  his 
little  native  town,  but  as  it  really  exists  in  all  large  cities, 
especially  in  this  great  metropolis  of  the  western  world. 
Here  are  always  to  be  seen  the  high  and  the  low,  the  rich 
and  the  poor,  the  honoured  and  the  degraded.  Here  are 
assembled  the  great,  the  good,  the  refined,  the  intellectual. 
The  high-born  and  noble,  of  all  lands,  breathe  the  same 
atmosphere,  and  live  often  in  the  same  street,  with  persons 
in  the  deepest  poverty,  and  lowest  in  the  scale  of  human 
being." 

Mark  had  never  seen  much  of  what  is  termed  "  high 
life,"  nor  had  he  an  idea  of  the  other  great  extreme,  as  it 


2OO  SELF-MADE,   OR 

existed  here.  He  had  heard  of  jails,  almshouses,  and  peniten 
tiaries ;  of  asylums  for  the  homeless  and  the  unfortunate  of 
all  classes ;  but  a  beggar  he  had  never  seen  ;  and  if  any  one 
had  told  him  there  were  hundreds  of  homeless,  destitute 
children  in  New  York,  he  would  have  set  it  down  as  an 
idle  tale.  Dissipation,  vice,  and  crime,  he  had  little  knowl- 
edge of;  and  when  a  daily  paper  reported  the  fact  of  there 
being  thousands  of  habitual  drunkards,  and  thousands  of 
inmates  of  the  city  and  county  prisons,  he  thought  there 
must  have  been  a  mistake  in  the  figures.  Little  could  he 
realize  that  here  were  young  men  of  his  own  age,  reared  in 
the  lap  of  luxury,  enjoying  every  advantage  which  wealth 
and  position  give,  —  advantages  and  privileges  which  his 
wildest  dreams  could  scarcely  picture,  —  devoting  their 
time,  talents,  and  the  best  years  of  their  lives,  to  idleness 
and  dissipation,  —  thrusting  aside  as  worthless  the  very 
object  which  he  would  give  worlds  to  attain  ;  boys  younger 
than  he,  descending,  step  by  step,  from  one  fashionable  vice 
to  another,  soon  to  fill  premature  and  dishonoured  graves ! 

It. was  midday  v/hen  they  arrived  and  drew  up  in  front 
of  the  City  Hotel,  on  Broadway.  The  Astor,  St.  Nicholas, 
and  Metropolitan  were  not  built  then  ;  but  there  were  some 
very  fine  hotels  there  forty  years  ago  —  quite  palatial,  so 
people  thought  who  came  in  from  the  country. 

Not  many  hours  elapsed  ere  Mark  was  made  aware  of 
being  the  chosen  companion  of  a  man  occupying  no  ordinary 
position.  On  every  hand  was  Mr.  Newell  greeted  with  a 
deference  and  respect  amounting  to  veneration.  They  were 
shown  to  a  room  on  the  second  floor,  —  or  rather  suite  of 
rooms,  —  Mark  occupying  a  smaller  one,  opening  into  that 
of  Mr.  Newell.  To  this  arrangement  Mark  demurred  ;  but 
Mr.  Newell  was  peremptory. 

"  So  far  from  your  '  obtruding  upon  my  privacy,'  you 
can,  if  you  choose,  make  yourself  useful  to  me.  I  shall  have 
some  copying  to  do,  and  accounts  to  make  out,  and  will  test 


LIVING  FOR   THOSE  WE   LOVE.  2OI 

your  proficiency  in  these  troublesome  matters ;  but  to-night  we 
will  rest,  and  during  the  few  days  that  I  am  arranging  some 
important  business  matters,  you  can  look  around  at  the 
sights." 

Mark  expressed  his  gratitude  in  a  becoming  manner, 
and  his  pleasure  in  being  able  to  serve  Mr.  Newell.  After 
the  necessary  preparations,  they  went  to  supper.  He  had 
brushed  the  dust  from  his  thick  boots  and  farmer's  suit  of 
homespun  gray,  and  donned  his  new  linen.  But  with  his 
open,  honest  face,  and  hair  combed  back  from  his  broad, 
handsome  forehead,  he  looked  every  inch  one  of  nature's 
noblemen.  So  Mr.  Newell  thought,  as  they  walked  arm  in 
arm  into  the  long  dining-room.  The  splendid  table-service, 
glittering  chandeliers,  the  polite  stewards,  in  their  clean 
white  livery,  and  the  numerous  well-dressed  people  of  both 
sexes  sitting  directly  opposite  and  all  around  him,  were 
things  well  calculated  to  put  his  heart  in  such  a  state  of  ner- 
vous excitement  as  threatened  to  interfere  with  his  appetite. 
Mr.  Newell  noticed  his  embarrassment,  and  while  they  were 
being  served,  engaged  him  in  an  easy,  familiar  conversation, 
that  quite  overcame  his  bashfulness,  and  renewed  his  desire 
for  a  good  supper. 

In  the  evening  Mr.  Newell  received,  in  his  own  parlour, 
the  few  friends  who  chanced  to  know  of  his  arrival.  There 
were  great  shakings  of  hands,  inquiries  after  his  health  and 
the  health  of  his  family.  Had  he  come  to  stay  ?  &c.  And 
then  Mark  was  introduced  as  "  my  young  friend,  Mr.  Miller." 

The  next  few  days  Mark  was  left  to  himself;  and  his 
experience  in  sight-seeing  will  be  better  expressed  in  a  letter 
written  to  his  mother,  after  he  had  been  there  a  week. 

"  MY  VERY  DEAR  MOTHER  :  I  am  one  of  the  many 
thousands  who  comprise  this  great  city.  The  broad  fields, 
dense  forests,  purling  brooks,  hills,  vales,  and  flowers,  of  my 
own  loved  home,  are  far  away  ;  and  yet  they  are  ever  pres- 


2O3  SELF-MADE,    OR 

ent.  From  my  window  I  can  see  nothing  but  a  mass  of 
crowded  houses,  and  the  dense  throng  of  living  things  that 
move  to  and  fro  before  it ;  and  my  restless  imagination  has 
plenty  of  business  on  its  hands.  So  anxious  was  I  to  com- 
mence my  career  of  sight-seeing,  that  notwithstanding  the 
fatigue  of  our  journey,  I  was  awake  ere  the  stars  '  began  to 
pale  their  ineffectual  light,'  and  meek-eyed  morn  appeared 
in  the  east.  In  half  an  hour  every  cupola  and  spire  was 
bathed  in  a  flood  of  liquid  light,  proclaiming  the  approach 
of  the  sun.  It  was  such  a  day  as  I  should  have  selected 
from  a  thousand,  —  a  season  wherein  if  a  man's  heart  fails  to 
beat  in  harmony  with  all  that  is  beautiful  in  nature,  he  must 
indeed  be  a  victim  of  dulness,  or,  what  is  worse,  a  misan- 
thrope. The  air  is  soft  and  cool,  but  I  miss  the  delicious 
fragrance  of  the  new-mown  gi'ass,  and  the  familiar  odour 
of  the  dainty  flowers ;  but  as  it  blows  softly  through  the 
branches  of  the  lindens  and  horse-chestnuts,  stirring  gently 
their  summer  suits  of  brilliant  green,  it  appears  quite  like 
the.  fresh  country  air  I  breathed  at  home.  The  mildness  of 
these  days  gives  me  the  pleasure  of  lengthy  strolls  through 
the  beautiful  Park  and  along  the  Battery,  where  the  pure 
sea  breeze  comes  up  from  the  bay  with  soft  and  misty  wings, 
scattering  its  little  dews  like  a  sweet,  still,  April  shower. 
Here,  while  resting  for  a  moment,  I  amuse  myself  in  watch- 
ing the  hundreds  of  happy,  rejoicing  children,  in  their  unre- 
strained sports.  I  extend  my  rovings  indefinitely,  and  take 
the  liberty  to  gape  and  stare  at  everything  that  attracts  my 
attention,  and  do  not  know  but  I  am  an  object  of  curiosity  ; 
but '  I  stare  my  fill  with  impunity,  and  take  all  stares  myself 
in  good  part.'  I  jostle  my  way  through  crowds  of  people, 
—  young  gentlemen,  with  dainty  gloved  hands,  twirling  at- 
tenuated little  canes ;  ladies  in  pink,  and  blue,  and  pearl- 
green,  and  couleur  de  rose,  gliding  up  and  down  with  light 
steps  and  fresh  complexions ;  beggars  and  blind  men,  black 
and  white. 


LIVING  FOR   THOSE   WE   LOVE. 


203 


"  On  Broadway  there  is  a  double  current,  up  and  down, 
of  beaver  and  broadcloth,  exquisite  and  costly  silks,  velvets, 
furs,  feathers,  flounces,  and  flowers  —  a  sol'id  mass  from  St. 
Paul's  to  Bond  Street.  There  is  no  crossing,  for  every  vehi- 
cle in  running  order,  I  verily  believe,  is  passing  here.  The 
millionnaire,  with  his  magnificent  '  turnout,'  dashes  past, 
while  the  sole  occupant  of  a  little  fairy  nut-shell,  with  two 
superb  bays,  comes  up  at  a  rapid  pace,  nearly  running  over 
a  poor  old  man  with  a  hand-cart.  Ladies  half  buried  in 
costly  silks  glide  by  like  troops  of  fairies.  I  endeavour  to  get 
a  second  glimpse,  but  they  are  gone,  and  the  phantom  of 
the  '  Flying  Dutchman '  looms  up  before  the  mind's  eye. 
Little  '  fast  men,'  with  less  discretion  than  mirthfulness 
beaming  from  their  beardless  physiognomies,  urge  on  their 
foaming  steeds,  regardless  of  consequences,  and  despite  the 
remonstrances  of  servants  in  livery,  and  a  '  Hold  on,  there ! ' 
from  a  policeman.  They  do  hold  on  to  a  tight  rein,  and 
are  out  of  sight  in  less  time  than  one  can  write  it.  Omni- 
buses, with  four  horses  attached,  seem  as  innumerable  as 
the  applicants  for  a  ride.  In  one  of  these  you  can  go  from 
the  Battery  a  mile  up  town  for  a  sixpence.  Opposite  my 
hotel  is  the  most  magnificent  panorama  of  confusion  that 
could  possibly  present  itself.  There  is  a  dray,  heavily  laden 
with  long  bars  of  iron,  attempting  to  cross ;  the  omnibus 
drivers  break  the  third  commandment  because  they  have  to 
'  hold  up  ; '  in  their  impatience  to  be  the  first  to  get  by,  one 
runs  against  the  other,  who  threatens  to  annihilate  the  former 
on  the  spot.  That  great,  huge  coal-waggon  runs  leisurely 
alongside  of  a  splendid  carriage  containing  some  of  the 
aristocracy  of  this  republican  New  York.  On  the  other 
side  is  a  little  fancy,  flashy  affair,  —  I  have  no  name  for  it, 
—  in  which  sit  two  young  men,  dressed  in  the  extreme  of 
fashion,  with  jaunty  little  hats,  and  beards  a  la  bison,  driving 
a  span  of  fast  horses  in  tandem  style.  Here  is  a  huge  con- 
cern on  wheels,  taking  up  half  the  street,  containing  a  band 


2O4  SELF-MADE,    OR 

*>. 

of  music,  and  covered  with  placards  announcing  that  this 
is  '  positively  the  last  week  of  Harnlet.'  A  candy  express- 
man, pedlers  of  p'ills,  porter,  and  other  bad  stuffs,  close  in 
with  a  train  of  carts  laden  with  all  manner  of  wares  and 
merchandise.  The  driver  of  that  omnibus  has  crowded 
those  horses,  belonging  to  some  rich  nabob,  up  on  to  the 
sidewalk,  while  the  consequential  son  of  Ham,  with  a  gold 
band  on  his  hat,  and  six  capes  to  his  overcoat,  is  pronoun- 
cing awful  anathemas  on  all  of  plebeian  and  canine  origin  or 
occupation.  Here  comes  a  funeral  train,  with  hearse  and 
4  nodding  plumes,'  getting  all  mixed  up  with  the  carts  and 
carriages,  entirely  separate  from  each  other,  until  the  hearse 
stops  some  three  or  four  blocks  ahead,  and  waits  for  the 
mourners  to  come  up.  Here,  too,  is  a  yoke  of  oxen  drawing 
a  sled  ;  and  driving  them  quietly  does  not  seem  to  be  among 
the  Hibernian's  accomplishments,  for  the  way  he  talks  to 
his  cattle  is  very  amusing.  Such  an  entanglement  of  vehi- 
cles, horses,  and  human  kind,  needs  a  pen  better  adapted  to 
'  descriptive  pieces '  than  mine,  to  do  it  justice.  Fancy  must 
plume  her  wings  from  this  point. 

"  These  are  only  a  few  of  the  street  scenes  that  constantly 
pass  before  me  in  my  daily  rambles.  I  have  visited  a  few 
of  the  public  buildings,  the  navy  yard,  and  the  receiving 
ship,  where  seamen  are  enlisted  for  the  navy,  the  hospitals 
for  the  sick,  the  asylums  for  the  poor,  aged,  the  deaf  and 
dumb,  and  blind,  the  gallery  of  painting  and  sculpture,  the 
public  libraries,  the  city  prison,  and  a  printing  office,  —  all 
of  which  ai-e  of  the  deepest  interest  to  me,  adding  much  to 
my  knowledge  of  the  world,  and  the  ways  thereof.  I  have 
also  visited  a  few  of  the  churches.  St.  Paul's  and  Trinity 
are  both  superb  structures  —  not  much  like  our  little  meet- 
ing-house at  Sorrel  Hill.  They  both  front  on  Broadway, 
and  are  in  the  busiest  and  most  crowded  portion  of  the  city. 
Around  both  of  these  are  the  graveyards  belonging  to 
the  societies.  In  Trinity  churchyard  are  the  graves  of 


LIVING   FOR    THOSE    WE   LOVE.  2O5 

many  of  the  heroes  of  the  revolution.  There  is  a  splendid 
monument  in  process  of  erection  commemorative  of  those 
martyrs  who  suffered  and  died  in  the  New  York  revolution- 
ary prisons.  It  stands  upon  the  very  spot  where  many  of 
them  were  buried ;  and  in  excavating  for  the  structure,  a 
skull  pierced  by  a  bullet,  and  other  revolutionary  relics, 
were  found. 

"  When  night  comes  I  am  pretty  well  satisfied  with  my 
day's  rambling  and  sight-seeing.  If  I  could  only  get  out  of 
these  resounding  streets,  it  would  be  a  richer  treat  than  I 
have  yet  enjoyed.  My  poor  head  aches  until  I  reach  my 
room  and  take  a  good  rest.  Besides,  I  am  made  painfully 
sensible  that  my  new  boots  are  not  just  the  things  for  com- 
fort, or  long  tramps  on  hot  pavements.  We  learn  wisdom 
by  the  things  we  suffer ;  and  to-morrow  I  shall  fall  back  on 
the  old  ones,  which  after  all  will  pass  in  a  crowd.  Some 
one  has  said,  '  Were  I  called  upon  to  put  forward  the  most 
unique  impersonation  of  comfort,  I  should  give  a  plumper 
in  favor  of  an  old  coat.  The  very  mention  of  this  luxury 
conjures  up  a  thousand  images  of  enjoyment.'  Now,  I  can 
say  the  same  of  an  old  or  half-worn  shoe.  It  gives  one  such 
an  unembarrassed,  independent  gait !  But  with  feet  im- 
prisoned in  a  detestable  pair  of  new  ones,  one  can  neither 
enjoy  the  blue  sky  nor  a  philosophic  reverie.  I  found  my 
clothes  rather  heavy  and  uncomfortable  this  warm  weather, 
and  bought  a  suit  of  light  material,  —  quite  a  '  becoming 
fit,'  —  and  not  very  expensive.  I  miss  the  dear  mother,  to 
tell  me  '  how  well  I  look '  in  them.  Had  I  been  told  that 
of  my  own  free  will  I  should  be  one  day  separated  from 
that,  mother's  side,  I  should  have  scouted  the  idea  as  a  thing 
too  absurd  to  think  of;  but  now  it  is  so,  my  only  comfort  is 
in  thinking  that  it  is  right ;  and  it  is  a  pleasure  for  us  to  do 
many  unpleasant  things,  if  we  know  what  we  are  doing  is 
right  and  for  the  best. 

"  I  shall  write  you  again  before  I  leave  the  city.     We 


2O6  SELF-MADE,    OK 

shall  go  in  about  another  week.     Mr.  Newell  is  more  like  a 
father  than  a  friend  of  a  few  weeks'  acquaintance.     When 
he  has  time  we  go  out  together ;  and,  with  his  influence  and 
assistance,  I  can  hardly  fail  of  getting  something  to  do. 
"  Be  cheerful,  dear  mother,  and  believe  me  to  be 
"  Your  affectionate  son, 

"  MARK." 


LIVING  FOR   THOSE   WE  LOVE. 


207 


CHAPTER    XXIII. 
BUSINESS  LIFE  IN  ALBANY. 

"  Shortly  his  fortune  shall  be  lifted  higher; 
True  industry  doth  kindle  honour's  fire." 

SHAKSPEARE. 

|  AYS  passed.  At  length  Mark  began  to  count  the 
time  by  weeks;  and  then  long  months  glided 
away  without  his  seeing  any  one  from  home. 

Through  the  influence  of  Mr.  Newell,  he  was 
at  length  well  established  in  a  large  wholesale  mercantile 
house  in  Albany.  Mr.  Newell  had  written  to  this  firm  — 
who  were  old  acquaintances  —  before  leaving  home,  and 
had  received  a  satisfactory  reply.  Before  placing  Mark  in 
business,  he  wished  to  show  him  something  of  the  world, 
and  invited  him  to  New  York,  where  he  remained  as  his 
guest.  It  would  be  better,  he  said,  than  a  whole  year's 
schooling. 

The  department  to  which  he  was  at  first  assigned  con- 
sisted principally  of  out-door  work  —  the  loading  and  un- 
loading of  stores,  which  came  in  and  went  out  by  the  cargo. 
This  was  hard  work  ;  but  Mark  was  used  to  that,  and  what- 
ever he  did  was  done  cheerfully  and  faithfully,  and  with  a 
will,  that  showed  he  was  not  ashamed  of  any  honest  em- 
ployment. Were  I  to  say  that  thenceforward  his  life  was 
without  cares  and  crosses,  that  no  temptations,  difficulties, 
or  depression  of  spirits  tried  him,  that  no  obstacles  were 
surmounted,  I  should  do  injustice  to  the  brave  heart  that 


2O8  SELF-MADE,   OR 

met  all  these,  but  only  to  scatter  and  conquer  them.  So 
strong  was  his  inherent  sense  of  truth  and  justice,  that  never 
for  a  moment  did  pride  interfere  with  principle.  Pride 
always  yielded,  though  his  cheek  were  made  to  burn  for  the 
sacrifice.  He  had  already  the  foundation  of  a  good  educa- 
tion, was  quick  at  figures,  and  could  generally  make  out  a 
\)\\\jfientally^  while  the  book-keeper  was  ornamenting  his 
invoices  and  bills  of  lading  with  extra  and  superfluous  flour- 
ishes. This  mental  and  natural  activity,  together  with  his 
untiring  industry,  his  regular  and  correct  habits,  his  earnest, 
consistent,  virtuous  life,  soon  won  for  him  the  admiration  of 
his  associates  and  the  implicit  confidence  of  his  employers. 

Yet  there  are  always  some  evil-disposed  persons,  whose 
delight  is  in  annoying  those  whose  consistent,  upright  char- 
acters contrast  strongly  with  their  own.  Such  a  companion 
had  Mark.  He  was  a  young  man  of  showy  exterior,  who 
wore  fine  clothes,  and  prided  himself  upon  his  good  looks 
and  his  gallantry.  Mark  was  his  especial  aversion,  and  he 
never  let  slip  an  opportunity  to  tease  and  annoy  him,  often 
making  him  the  butt  of  ridicule  and  a  subject  for  practical 
jokes.  Mark  bore  his  raillery  in  silence,  listened  quietly  to 
his  coarse  innuendoes,  and  sometimes  joined  in  an  innocent 
laugh  against  himself,  retorting  in  a  pleasant  humour,  and 
often  hurling  back  upon  the  archer  the  shaft  intended  for 
himself.  He  could  not  compromise  his  manhood  by  tamely 
submitting  to  insults. 

The  two  occupied  a  corner  in  the  great  loft,  partitioned 
off  by  piles  of  empty  boxes,  carpetless  and  curtainless,  and 
altogether  a  dreary-looking  abode  for  one  of  Mr.  Clinton's 
refined  tastes  and  habits. 

Mark  had  gone  up  one  night  to  close  and  fasten  the  fire- 
proof shutters.  On  descending  the  stairs  he  found  himself 
locked  in  —  a  prisoner,  literally,  for  the  night.  He  made  no 
outward  sign  of  impatience,  thinking  his  jailer  within  hear- 
ing distance,  supposing  —  very  properly,  too  —  that  when  the 


LIVING  FOR  THOSE  WE  LOVE.  209 

t;  freak  "  was  over,  he  would  come  to  his  release.  But  he 
waited  in  vain.  Hours  passed  ;  and  he  was  still  a  prisoner, 
under  as  strong  and  secure  a  guard  as  though  he  were  in  the 
"  Tombs."  It  grew  quite  dark.  He  was  faint  and  hungry. 
There  were  no  lights,  save  the  soft  starlight  above  and  the 
sweeter  love-light  beaming  in  his  soul.  He  had  stood  by 
the  window  two  hours,  though  it  seemed  not  as  many  min- 
utes. An  ever-changing  panorama  glides  before  him.  All 
are  hurrying  homeward,  and  from  those  homes  are  streaming 
bright  lights,  and  within  are  happy  voices  and  smiling  faces, 
and  tender  love-tones  mingled  with  warm  kisses,  to  welcome 
the  tired  footstep  and  gladden  the  weary  of  heart. 

As  he  stands  thus,  motionless  and  sorrowful,  another  pano- 
rama, exhibiting  the  past,  the  present,  the  future,  glides 
before  his  mental  vision.  The  shifting,  varying  scenes  grow 
dark  or  bright,  as  "  fancy's  wild  imaginings  "  roll  slowly  by. 
He  feels  that  he  has  indeed  entered  upon  the  world,  —  that 
world  so  replete  with  strange  occurrences  and  parti-colored 
incident.  Darkness  overspreads  the  city.  Dark  and  dreary 
seems  the  world  below  and  around  him.  Above  are  the 
shining  stars,  and  they  alone  of  all  the  created  universe 
seem  without  a  cloud  over  their  bright  faces.  Slowly  glide 
the  shifting  scenes.  He  has  passed  the  threshold  of  a  new 
existence,  and  life  in  its  sober  reality  is  opening  upon  him. 
A  murmur  of  indistinct,  yet  painfully  audible  sounds,  reaches 
his  ear  from  the  busy  world  below ;  but  no  familiar  voice, 
no  tone  of  endearment,  is  here,  no  home-hearth  nor  home- 
comforts  to  cast  a  cheerful  glow  over  the  heart  that  is  to  be 
henceforth  barred  from  social  intercourse. 

The  bright  stars  seemed  a  great  way  off,  and  over  the 
moon's  disk  a  cloud  had  slowly  gathered.  A  darker  cloud 
gathered  around  his  heart,  until  it  seemed  that  no  light  was 
strong  enough  to  penetrate  its  gloom  !  He  opened  the  blind 
and  leaned  his  forehead  against  the  cool  pane,  and  gazed  out 
into  the  darkness,  as  if  in  that  protracted,  agonized  stare,  he 


2IO  SELF-MADE,   OR 

would  pierce  the  veil  of  futurity,  and  learn,  in  a  moment's 
time,  the  events  of  his  future  life.  If  such  had  been  his 
thought,  he  thrust  it  back  as  impious.  "  O  God,  in  Thee 
will  I  trust.  Thou  only  knowest  or  canst  know  my  future. 
Thy  will  be  done."  That  perfect  trust  and  holy  faith, 
learned  at  his  mother's  knee  and  beside  his  father's  death- 
bed, came  like  a  beautiful  beacon-light  to  a  foundering  bark. 
In  this,  the  saddest  hour  his  heart  had  ever  known,  he  would 
not  yield  up  the  sweet  hope  that  slept  within  the  darkened 
chambers  of  his  soul.  It  had  kept  watch  with  him  through 
the  mental  storm,  and  now  was  growing  brighter  and  more 
gayly-coloured  as  it  neared  the  goal  of  his  ambition.  Years 
hence  he  might  look  back  upon  this  hour  with  a  smile. 

Mr.  Clinton  did  not  return  that  night;  but  that  did  not 
prevent  Mark's  enjoying  a  good  sound  sleep,  though  he  went 
to  bed  supperless,  and  with  his  head  aching  sadly.  He  was 
awakened  the  next  morning  by  the  approaching  footsteps 
of  his  room-mate.  He  started  to  his  feet,  dressed  himself 
hastily,  then  boldly  confronting  the  gentleman,  asked  to 
know  what  was  meant  by  this  fresh  insult.  Mr.  Clinton, 
nearly  convulsed  with  laugh tei',  attempted  to  pass  it  off  as  a 
good  joke,  when  Mark  interrupted  his  insolent  harangue  by 
saying,  — 

"  Sir,  I  wish  you  to  understand,  from  this  time  forth,  you 
will  not  make  me  the  subject  of  your  insolence.  I  will  bear 
no  more.  Your  'jokes '  are  getting  to  be  serious  affairs,  and 
happen  most  too  often.". 

Clinton  was  a  coward,  and  quailed  beneath  the  fiery  eye 
and  towering  form  that  confronted  him.  Mark  could  have 
crushed  him,  and  he  knew  it.  Never  before  had  Mr.  Clin- 
ton seen  that  bold,  brave  spirit  aroused  ;  but  he  saw  it  now, 
and  trembled. 

He  attempted  some  further  apology,  but  it  was  useless. 
Mark  continued  to  lay  his  commands  upon  him  until  he  was 
sufficiently  humbled. 


LIVING   FOR   THOSE   WE    LOVE.  211 

"  Now  you  must  go  with  me  to  Mr.  Gedney,  and  we  will 
talk  this  matter  over.  I  am  no  pugilist,  or  I  could  redress 
my  wrongs  in  a  way  less  pleasant  than  for  you  to  acknowl- 
edge them  to  our  employer." 

"  O,  Miller,  you  won't  surely  submit  me  to  this  humili- 
ating ordeal !  You  may  play  me  a  dozen  jokes,  only  don't 
take  me  before  Gedney.  I  never  could  stand  it;  'pon  my 
honour,  I  couldn't." 

"  Your  honour,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  is  as  little  to  be  depended 
upon  as  your  candour  or  truthfulness.  I  have  little  confidence 
in  either.  We  will  just  go  to  the  office  and  talk  over  this 
little  affair,  and  let  Mr.  Gedney  pass  judgment.  Perhaps  he 
too  will  regard  it  as  a  '  good  joke.'  If  so,  I  am  willing  to 
stand  my  chances  against  it,  or  any  like  it,  happening 
again." 

"  Now,  Miller,  what's  the  use  of  pummelling  a  fellow 
when  he's  already  down?  Haven't  I  told  you  I  was  sorry , 
and  begged  your  pardon?  " 

"  No,  you  have  not." 

"  Well,  then,  I  am;  'pon  my  word  I  am;  so  let's  shake 
hands,  and  say  no  more  about  it." 

"Friends,  or  enemies?"  asked  Mark,  as  he  took,  rather 
reluctantly,  the  proffered  hand. 

"  Friends  —  fast  friends,  for  life,  'pon  my  honour." 

And  thus  it  proved.     They  never  had  any  more  difficulty. 

Cheerless  as  was  the  great  lumbering  loft  where  he  slept, 
Mark  soon  learned  there  were  other  homes,  or  houses,  filled 
with  elegant  and  costly  things,  more  destitute  of  joy  and  the 
dear  delights  of  social  intercourse. 

Mr.  Gedney,  the  senior  partner  of  the  firm,  was  a  gentle- 
man of  refinement  and  education,  but  somewhat  after  the 
pattern  of  Deacon  Sloper  in  his  notions  about  using  all 
mankind  as  one  common  brotherhood,  and  all  God's  good 
gifts  as  though  lent  us  to  do  good  with.  He  had  taken  Mark 
to  his  house,  "  to  keep  him  out  of  harm's  way,"  he  said,  and, 


213  SELF-MADE,   OR 

after  he  knew  him  better,  to  keep  one  little  ray  of 
beaming  there. 

It  is  said  that  "  men  like  their  opposites  best."  If  this  be 
true  in  all  cases,  Mrs.  Gedney  must  have  shared  largely  in 
her  husband's  affections.  Two  greater  opposites  never  met. 
Two  greater  contrasts  of  mind  and  disposition  were  never 
wedded.  He  was  all  generosity  and  affection,  —  loved  every- 
body, delighted  to  see  everybody  and  everything,  even  the 
lowest  brute  in  creation,  happy  and  cheerful.  She  —  accord- 
ing to  Mark's  way  of  thinking  —  was  a  "  frozen  water  spirit," 
—  so  pale,  cold,  and  stately  did  she  appear.  The  atmos- 
phere of  her  house  he  likened  to  the  damp  fogs  on  the  mill- 
pond  at  Sorrel  Hill  after  an  autumn  shower.  An  air  of 
deep  gravity  pervaded  her  manner ;  her  speech  was  full  of 
big  dictionaiy  words,  the  meaning  of  which  Mark  could  never 
quite  understand.  The  rooms,  though  furnished  with  taste 
and  elegance,  partook  of  the  same  general  discomfort  and 
chilliness,  every  article  of  furniture  being  arranged  with  a 
stately  and  studied  precision.  Not  a  chair,  not  a  book,  was 
ever  out  of  place.  No  papers,  no  magazines,  were  lying 
about,  as  if  they  had  ever  been  read,  or  ever  would  be.  No 
children's  toys,  or  little  shoes,  or  bits  of  broken  china,  were 
permitted  to  litter  the  carpets  in  that  house.  There  were 
birds  in  gilded  cages,  flowers  in  the  conservatory,  and  chil- 
dren in  the  nursery.  These  latter  were  necessary  evils,  who 
were  pale  and  white  like  their  mother,  only  making  their 
appearance  at  table,  when  they  were  very  clean  and  very 
dignified.  If  they  were  unusually  good  and  still  through 
the  day,  they  might  dine  with  papa  at  five  o'clock,  or  be 
dressed  nicely,  and  ride  in  the  carriage  with  mamma.  A 
cat,  or  a  dog,  or  a  pet  of  any  kind,  never  entered  the  sacred 
precinct.  A  noble  mastiff  sometimes  waited  at  the  gate  for 
his  master's  coming,  and,  following  him  to  the  store,  waited 
there,  with  a  loving  fidelity,  his  return  ;  but  his  home  was  his 
kennel,  —  he  never  entered  the  house.  A  cat,  also,  "  might 


LIVING   FOR   THOSE   WE    LOVE. 


2I3 


ha  ye  been  seen,"  shying  around  among  tlie  low  si  rubs  in  the 
garden,  or  leisurely  sunning  her  shining  sides,  when  there 
wa-5  no  one  around  to  stamp  and  cry,  '•'•Scat!"  A  beautiful 
tortoise-shell  kitten  it  had  once  been ;  but  long  since  it  had 
been  under  the  ban  of  the  mistress's  displeasure,  for  presum- 
ing to  grow  out  of  sweet,  innocent  kittenhood  into  a  great, 
ugly,  horrid  creature  !  Was  she  so  unfortunate  as  to  cross 
the  path  of  the  said  mistress,  away,  with  tail  erect,  would 
poor  puss  scamper !  slinking  from  God's  sweet  sunshine,  as 
if  there  were  not  enough  for  all,  and  all  had  not  the  same 
right  to  life,  and  love,  and  happiness. 

When  immersed  in  the  duties  and  excitement  of  business, 
Mr.  Gedney  appeared  in  the  eyes  of  the  world  a  man  to  be 
envied.  He  was  rich,  courteous,  and  charitable,  and  kept 
up  a  fine  establishment.  His  wife,  rather  exclusive  and  dis- 
tant, —  so  the  world  thought,  —  gave  elegant  entertainments 
to  the  "  dear  five  hundred  friends,"  who  knew  little  of  their 
domestic  arrangements.  The  world  looked  not  into  their 
inner  life  —  they  saw  only  the  surface  of  their  domestic  ex- 
istence. Perhaps  a  few  noticed  the  apparent  dissonance,  the 
want  of  kindred  sympathy,  a  dissimilarity  of  taste  and  feel- 
ing ;  but  then  that,  they  said,  "  often  happens  among  married 
couples  :  people  —  men  especially  —  always  prefer  their  op- 
posites."  Society  cast  its  homage  at  the  feet  of  this  cold,  pas- 
sionless being ;  for  society  she  reserved  what  little  there  was 
in  her  nature  to  love  or  admire.  Mark  was  her  aversion. 
She  was  too  high-toned  to  tolerate  any  creature  of  low  pro- 
pensities;  and  dogs,  cats,  rabbits,  and  children  were  his 
special  admiration  !  Horse-flesh  he  idolized  ! 

This  cold,  stately  house  was  Mark's  only  home.  Is  it  to 
be  wondered  at  that  his  warm,  impulsive  heart  yearned  for 
the  humble  home  and  the  dear  mother  he  had  left? 

Thus  the  summer  passed  away.  It  seemed  a  very  short 
summer  to  Mark,  who  was  constantly  seeing  strange  faces, 
and  new  and  strange  scenes  were  of  daily  occurrence.  He 


214  SELF-MADE,    OR 

kept  on  in  the  even  tenor  of  his  way,  at  the  store,  among  the 
bales  and  boxes  all  day,  and  studying  in  the  great  attic  all  the 
evening.  He  had  not  seen  Miss  Pearson  :  she  was  spending 
the  summer  out  of  town.  The  warm  summer  months  were 
gliding  rapidly  away.  The  approach  of  autumn  was  seen 
rather  than  felt,  for  the  days  were  still  pleasant ;  but  the 
brown  and  yellow  leaves  were  supplanting  the  bright  green 
ones,  and  the  delicate  flowers  one  after  another  were  skrink- 
ing  into  their  beds  of  dusky  shadow,  just  as  man  is  hidden 
away  in  the  tomb,  awaiting  the  dawn  of  the  resurrection 
morn  to  bring  him  forth  to  a  new  and  more  refined  exist- 
ence. At  length  Grace  came  home.  As  she  sat  looking 
over  a  numerous  array  of  notes  and  cards,  left  during  her 
absence,  she  found  this  note,  written  upon  a  small  scrap  of 
paper,  lying  at  the  bottom  of  her  card-basket :  — 

"  I  have  fulfilled  my  promise  in  that  I  called  immediately 
on  my  arrival  in  the  city.  All  well  at  home.  These  little 
faded  violets  were  plucked  fresh  for  you  by  Nettie,  the  morn- 
ing I  left ;  but  that  was  two  months  ago. 

"  MARK." 

The  note  was  without  date,  and  three  months  had  elapsed 
since  it  was  written.  How  provoking !  If  she  only  knew 
where  to  find  him,  she  would  set  out  immediately.  She 
must  find  him.  If  he  was  still  in  the  city,  she  must  know 
where  he  was  and  what  he  was  doing.  Then  a  thousand 
ugly  images  arrayed  themselves  before  her.  He  might  be 
in  want,  seeking  in  vain  for  employment,  looking  in  vain 
for  a  familiar  face  or  friendly  word.  As  these  thoughts 
rushed  through  her  mind,  she  became  nervously  excited  — 
inquired  of  the  servants ;  but  he  had  never  called  again. 
She  hastily  wrote  a  few  lines,  and  took  them  to  the  post- 
office  herself.  On  her  way  thither,  she  unconsciously  peered 
into  the  face  of  every  passer-by  who  bore  the  slightest  resem- 
blance to  Mark.  Once  she  thought  she  had  found  him. 


LIVING   FOR   THOSE   WE   LOVE. 


215 


Her  heart  gave  a  sudden  bound  when,  on  turning  a  corner, 
she  came  up  behind  a  man  in  a  suit  of  gray  homespun,  with 
brass  buttons.  A  nearer  approach  almost  confirmed  her 
suspicions.  She  thought  she  recognized  the  old  —  the  pecu- 
liar kind  of  hat  he  wore.  Now  she  is  close  beside  him,  and 
looks  smilingly  into  his  face.  O,  horror  of  horrors  !  it  is  not 
Mark  !  No,  those  "  weamy,"  leering  eyes  and  carroty  hair 
belong  to  no  friend  of  hers.  She  felt  somehow  that  she  had 
insulted  the  brave,  good-looking  boy  by  supposing  this  dissi- 
pated vagabond  could  be  at  all  like  him.  Having  deposited 
the  note  in  the  post-office,  she  resolved  on  holding  an  indig- 
nation meeting,  all  by  herself,  which  should  last  the  whole 
evening. 

She  had  not  long  to  remain  in  suspense,  for  the  next  day 
Mark  came.  Her  note  had  been  very  peremptory,  demand- 
ing, in  a  girlish,  playful  tone,  his  immediate  presence. 
With  a  light  and  bounding  heart  he  sprang  up  the  marble 

steps  of  the  great  brown  mansion  in Street  —  Grace's 

home.  Here  were  no  icy  barriers,  though  the  lofty  granite 
front  and  rosewood  portal  proclaimed  the  wealth  and  aris- 
tocracy of  the  owner.  One  there  was  within  "  waiting  impa- 
tiently," "  nearly  dying  to  see  him  !  "  —  so  the  little  note  read. 

He  was  shown  into  a  richjy-furnished  library,  lighted  by 
two  large  bay-windows  of  stained  glass,  that  diffused  a 
softened,  mellow  light  throughout  the  room.  Treasures  of 
literature,  art,  and  science  were  everywhere  to  be  seen ; 
paintings  and  maps  adorned  the  walls ;  statues  fitted  nicely 
into  the  niches  for  which  they  were  made  ;  chairs  of  antique 
patterns,  lounges  made  for  comfort,  — 

"  'Twas  heaven  to  lounge  upon  a  couch,  said  Gray, 
And  read  new  novels  on  a  rainy  day;" 

tete-a-tetes,  and  steps,  carpeted  with  velvet,  to  climb  to  the 
highest  shelves;  writing-tables,  ready  for  use;  and  vases 
filled  with  fresh  flowers. 


2l6  SELF-MADE,   OR 

The  icebergs  which  had  hemmed  him  around  for  the  last 
three  months,  melted  away  before  the  genial,  sunny  smile 
of  the  fine,  noble-looking  man,  who  advanced  to  meet  him. 
Though  Mr.  Guild  —  Grace's  uncle  —  could  count  his  pos- 
sessions by  thousands,  was  the  owner  of  one  of  the  finest 
estates  in  the  country,  stood  high  in  the  political  and  social 
world,  was  looked  up  to  and  quoted  as  a  man  of  large  influ- 
ence and  unbounded  generosity,  he  never  forgot  that  he  was 
once  a  poor  man,  —  that  it  was  owing  to  his  own  earnest 
efforts  and  a  combined  train  of  circumstances,  and  that  for- 
tune favoured  him  in  order  that  he  might  favour  others. 

The  calm,  easy,  unstudied  grace ;  the  frank,  generous, 
open  countenance ;  the  warm,  genuine  shake  of  the  hand, 
disarmed  the  fears  of  the  young  country  boy,  putting  him  at 
once  upon  his  easy,  affable  behaviour. 

Ere  the  self-introductions  and  mutual  congratulations  are 
over,  approaching  footsteps  and  the  sound  of  merry  voices 
are  heard.  A  moment  more,  and  Grace  comes  forward,  her 
eyes  filling  with  a  lustrous,  familiar  sweetness,  and  clasps 
his  hand  with  the  cordiality  of  an  old,  long-absent  friend. 

No,  he  was  not  forgotten !  This  noble,  highly-gifted 
young  lady,  born  in  affluence,  the  petted  child  of  fortune, 
the  favourite  of  a  brilliant  circle  of  friends,  the  admired  of 
all,  the  beloved  of  many,  was  still  the  friend  of  the  shy, 
awkward  country  lad,  who  had  been  to  her  the  hero  of 
many  a  fancy-coloured  day-dream,  and  who  was  to  be 
"  motive  of  more  fancy." 

From  the  library  —  where  they  spent  an  agreeable  half 
hour  —  Mark  was  shown  into  a  cosy  family  sitting-room. 
Here  were  children,  and  children's  toys,  and  "  heaps  o'  play- 
things "  scattered  over  the  soft  carpet ;  and  Grace  had  even 
to  move  a  little  bedstead  from  one  end  of  the  sofa  before  her 
guest  could  be  seated.  A  home-like  aspect  pervaded  the 
large  and  handsomely-furnished  apartment.  A  matronly- 
looking  lady,  —  Grace's  aunt,  —  full  of  grace  and  innate 


LIVING   FOR   THOSE   WE   LOVE.  21 7 

sweetness  herself,  was  seated  at  an  open  window,  shaded  by 
some  rare  creeping  vine,  whose  profuse  luxuriance  added  an 
azure  softness  to  the  festooned  curtains  of  rich  lace,  falling 
in  graceful  folds  at  her  feet.  She  rose  hastily,  gave  Mark's 
hand  a  kind,  motherly  clasp,  saying,  "  she  had  been  almost 
as  anxious  to  see  him  as  had  Grace ;  and  now  they  had  met, 
she  hoped  they  would  see  him  often.  Could  he  not  some- 
times spend  his  evenings  with  them,  after  business  hours? 
Had  he  a  pleasant  boarding-place  ?  Would  he  not  occupy 
a  seat  in  their  pew  on  the  Sabbath?  He  must  certainly 
accompany  Grace  to  their  Wednesday  evening  '  social  circle,' 
held  in  the  vestry,  for  the  mutual  improvement  and  better 
acquaintance  of  the  younger  members  of  the  society." 

To  all  these  motherly  interrogations  Mark  responded 
with  a  newly-awakened  interest.  New  life,  new  hopes, 
higher  aspirations,  were  swelling  his  great  heart.  He  must 
indeed  be  aspiring,  ambitious,  zealous,  far-reaching,  to  meet 
the  expectations  of  these  friends,  who,  he  feared,  over-esti- 
mated his  abilities.  But  he  would  work  with  new  energy, 
take  another  hour  from  sleep,  and  study  with  increased 
vigour. 

Here,  he  felt,  must  be  his  home.  Here  were  genial  minds 
and  sympathetic  hearts. 

"  The  mind  within  him  panted  after  mind ; 
The  spirit  sighed  to  meet  a  kindred  spirit." 

And  here,  in  this  great  palatial  residence  of  one  of  the  coun- 
try's great  and  noble  sons,  he  found  it ;  and  more,  he  found 

"  Wisdom  enshrined  in  beauty.     O,  how  high 
The  order  of  that  loveliness !  " 

Grace  bore  a  strong  resemblance  to  her  aunt,  —  she  being 
her  mother's  only  sister.  Both  were  lovely,  and  seemingly 
one  nature  inhabited  the  two  beautiful  forms.  Mark's  heart 
was  evidently  "  under  the  wand  of  the  enchanter."  He 


2l8  SELF-MADE,    OR 

scarcely  knew  which  he  loved  the  more.  "  What  a  contrast 
to  the  cold,  pale,  marble-like  beauty  of  Mrs.  Gedney  !  What 
a  striking  contrast  in  the  homes  of  the  two  !  "  were  some  of 
Mark's  thoughts,  when  a  frank,  merry  boy,  full  of  mischief 
and  animation,  crossed  the  hall  with  a  jump  and  a  slide,  and 
came  bounding  in  at  the  half-open  door,  being  unaware  of 
the  presence  of  a  stranger.  His  little  sister,  a  rosy-cheeked, 
healthy,  happy-looking  child,  followed,  bearing  a  whole 
apron  full  of  kittens,  which  she  fearlessly  deposited  upon 
the  carpet.  There  were  no  little  pale  lilies  in  that  house- 
hold. Fresh  air  and  plenty  of  healthful  exercise  kept  their 
complexions  ruddy  and  their  eyes  brilliant.  There  were  no 
cold,  stately  rooms,  "  kept  for  company,"  into  which  the 
children  might  not  enter,  or  where  a  ray  of  sunshine  dare 
not  intrude. 

Mark  was  well  pleased  with  his  first  visit,  and  was  invited 
to  come  whenever  he  could  spare  the  time.  He  was  always 
made  to  feel  at  home  when  in  company  with  this  pleasant 
family.  Two  or  three  evenings  in  a  week  were  generally 
spent  here.  Grace  had  become  his  instructress.  To  her  he 
recited  when  his  tasks  were  learned  ;  and  her  kind,  encour- 
aging words  often  sent  him  cheered  and  strengthened  to  his 
daily  toil,  or  to  a  night  of  sweet  repose.  He  had  access  to 
the  great  library,  and  to  the  piano,  both  of  which  proved  of 
inestimable  value.  The  one  satisfied  his  thirst  for  knowl- 
edge, the  other  charmed  his  senses,  until  "  the  listening  heart 
forgot  all  duties  and  all  cares."  Together  they  read  history, 
studied  mathematics,  conned  the  pages  of  ancient  loi'e,  or 
practised  some  charming  duet,  or  tried  the  last  new  song. 
But  for  these  few  evenings  of  social  intercourse  with  these 
much-valued  friends,  he  sometimes  felt  he  could  not  live  in 
the  cold,  stately  house  where  his  home  was.  , 

Thus  a  whole  year  passed  away.  Mark  entered  upon  his 
commercial  life  as  junior  clerk.  He  was  honest,  industrious, 
trustworthy,  and  made  his  patron's  interest  his  own.  Few 


LIVING   FOR   THOSE   WE   LOVE. 


219 


young  men  of  his  age  possessed  better  business  qualifications. 
These  brought  him  at  once  into  favour.  At  the  end  of  the 
year  he  was  tendered  the  senior  clerkship,  with  an  advanced 
salary.  He  relaxes  none  of  the  interest  he  at  first  took, 
when  he  knew  he  must  work  or  starve ;  sunrise  and  sunset 
find  him  at  his  post.  He  is  happy  comparatively,  though 
a  shade  of  sadness  often  steals  over  his  brow  when  he  thinks 
of  "  dear  mother  in  her  lonely  home."  But,  then,  letters  from 
the  dear  old  home  come  laden  with  sweet,  comforting  words, 
and  his  mother  writes  about  everything  of  interest,  always 
sends  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Sloper's  regards,  and  dear  Nettie's  love, 
and  says,  "  You  don't  know  what  a  great  girl  Nettie  has 
grown  to  be ;  and  so  good,  too,  that  the  old  place  does  not 
look  like  the  same."  Winking  away  the  tears  that  will 
sometimes  blind  him,  he  reads  over  again  those  sweet  little 
passages  referring  to  the  poor  girl  who  gave  him,  as  a 
parting  token,  the  Testament  which  is  never  forgotten  or 
neglected. 

This  ever-dutiful  son,  during  his  junior  clerkship,  when  his 
salary  was  scarcely  more  than  was  actually  requisite  to  meet 
his  own  wants,  was  enabled,  by  practising  the  strictest  econ- 
omy, and  by  denying  himself  everything  in  the  shape  of  luxury, 
to  supply  his  darling  mother  with  many  of  the  little  comforts 
her  loneliness  and  increasing  age  demanded.  Scarcely  a 
month  passed  that  a  small  parcel  did  not  go  out  by  the  old 
lumbering  stage  which  carried  Nettie's  box.  It  might  be  a 
pound  of  tea,  a  small  box  of  sugar,  a  sample  of  nice  West 
India  fruit,  a  dress,  or  pair  of  shoes,  or  a  cap-ribbon,  selected 
with  care  and  taste,  to  show  that  he  was  ever  mindful  of 
the  mother  he  idolized. 

So  the  months  passed  on.  Mark's  spirits  were  light,  his 
step  buoyant,  while  his  heart  clung  fondly  to  the  friends 
whom  he  met  with  in  his  desolation. 


22O  SELF-MADE,    OR 


CHAPTER   XXIV. 

THE  GOVERNOR'S  RECEPTION. 

"  She  may  help  you  to  many  fair  preferments, 
And  then  deny  her  aiding  hand  therein, 
And  lay  these  honours  on  your  high  desert." 

SHAKSPEARE. 

jjHE  second  year  of  Mark's  absence  is  drawing  to 
a  close.  The  winter  is  a  delightful  one  :  all  is 
gayety  and  festivity  in  the  capital  of  the  Empire 
State.  The  legislature  is  still  in  session ;  and 
Mark,  through  the  kindness  of  his  ever-indulgent  patron, 
passes  an  hour,  almost  daily,  either  in  the  Senate  or  Assem- 
bly chamber,  listening  to  the  speeches  of  the  members,  and 
learning  much  of  parliamentary  usage.  These  are  hours 
well  spent.  He  treasures  up  what  he  sees  and  hears.  Some- 
times Grace  accompanies  him  ;  and  it  is  during  one  of  these 
brief  visits  that  she  introduces  him  to  the  governor.  He 
repeated  the  name  inquiringly.  "Mark  Miller?  Are  you 
not  from  Sorrel  Hill  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir  ;  that  is  my  native  town." 

"  Why,  my  old  friend,  Enoch  Sloper,  wrote  me  about  you 
over  a  year  ago.  I  expected  you  to  call  on  me  ere  this  with 
your  '  credentials.'  And  late  as  it  is,  I  am  happy  to  meet 
you." 

"Fortunately,  sir,  my  'credentials'  were  not  necessary; 
but  I  have  the  good  deacon's  letter  stowed  away  safely,  and 
if  I  am  ever  so  unlucky  as  to  be  out  of  $lace,  it  may  yet 
serve  me  for  a  '  character?  " 


LIVING   FOR   THOSE   WE   LOVE.  22 J 

"  No  danger  of  that,  young  man,  if  half  what  the  deacon 
says  of  you  is  true." 

"  I  can  vouch  for  the  truth  of  it  all.  The  deacon  is  very 
moderate  in  his  praises.  When  you  want  justice  done  him, 
come  to  me,"  said  Grace,  unblushingly. 

"  I  see  you  are  already  biassed.  You  would  not  make  an 
impartial  report,"  rejoined  the  governor,  good-humouredly. 
"You  have  a  charming  advocate  in  Miss  Pearson,"  con- 
tinued he,  addressing  Mark.  "  Her  eloquence  vanquishes 
all  opponents  ;  her  judgment  is  infallible  when  character  and 
principle  are  things  to  be  passed  upon,  as  many  have  found 
to  their  cost." 

A  half  hour's  pleasant  conversation  passed,  when  the 
governor  took  his  leave,  bidding  them  good  morning,  and 
saying,  he  hoped  to  meet  them  both  in  the  evening  at  his 
"  reception."  It  would  be  the  last  of  the  season,  and  Miss 
Pearson  must  use  her  powers  of  eloquence,  and  prevail  on 
the  "  obdurate  young  man  "  to  accompany  her. 

The  executive  mansion  is  blazing  with  bright  lights,  and 
the  starry  eyes  of  lovely  women  lend  their  added  lustre  to 
the  brilliant  scene.  The  beauty  and  fashion  of  the  capital 
are  there.  Mr.  Miller  is  there  too  ;  and  leaning  on  his  arm, 
as  if  proud  of  her  companion,  is  one  of  the  very  elite  of 
society ;  a  fair  girl  in  blue  satin  and  pearls,  the  reigning 
belle  —  had  she  chosen  to  be  a  belle  —  of  the  old  aristocratic 
society  of  Albany.  Though  several  years  his  senior,  she 
seems  very  proud  of  her  young  companion,  scarcely  permit- 
ting herself  to  be  separated  from  him  during  the  evening. 

And  the  mistress  of  all  this  splendour,  —  the  governor's 
estimable  lady,  —  to  whom  he  has  been  presented,  invites 
him  to  a  seat  by  her  side,  with  the  same  courtesy  and  cor- 
diality as  are  extended  to  her  most  honoured  guests.  This 
was  Mark's  first  entrance  into  society  ;  and  the  heart  which 
he  carried  away  from  that  scene  of  festivity  was  different 
somewhat  from  the  one  he  took  with  him.  Yet  his  lot  in 


222  SELF-MADE,   OR 

life  was  the  same  ;  nothing  was  changed  ;  only  his  own  feel- 
ings and  views  of  life  were  changed. 

Here,  too,  he  met  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Loveland.  They  have 
been  to  him  the  kindest  of  friends.  They  look  up  and  smile 
when  they  meet  him,  with  Grace  leaning  on  his  arm.  They 
have  always  so  many  questions  to  ask  about  Sorrel  Hill ! 
and  if  they  receive  a  letter  it  is  always  taken  to  Mark,  as  to 
one  of  the  family. 

A  few,  whose  fastidious  tastes  would  never  permit  them 
to  move  out  of  their  own  particular  circle,  or  treat  with 
common  politeness  any  one  who  did  not  belong  to  "  our 
set"  were  astonished  to  see  "  plebeians,"  and  "  people  of  no 
note,  putting  on  such  airs."  Mrs.  Gedney  was  shocked. 
Wondered  if  Mrs.  Loveland,  and  that  Miss  Pearson,  of 
whom  half  the  young  gentlemen  in  the  city  were  desperately 
enamoured,  knew  they  were  promenading  with  one  of  her 
husband's  clerks',  making  fools  of  themselves  and  him  too  ; 
or  did  they  do  it  to  show  their  independence  and  indifference 
to  the  speeches  of  people?  Wondered  if  they  were  aware 
of  his  low  propensities  and  nameless  pedigree?  —  that  he 
took  his  meals  at  the  second  table,  along  with  the  coachman 
and  gardener?  She  would  be  delighted  when  an  opportunity 
was  given  to  enlighten  them  ;  but  not  to-night.  No,  she 
took  a  secret  satisfaction  in  seeing  the  thing  go  on,  in  order 
that  their  humiliation  and  her  own  triumph  might  be  the 
more  complete. 

It  was  a  grand  affair,  this  levee  of  the  governor  —  "the 
last  of  the  season."  From  early  evening  until  the  "  wee  sma' 
hours  of  the  morning,"  the  great  mansion,  from  the  pave- 
ment to  the  grand  dome,  is  flooded  with  light  and  warmth. 
Carriages  are  flying  hither  and  thither  in  all  directions ; 
load  after  load  is  whirled  up  the  spacious  carriage-drive, 
depositing  its  lovely  freight  of  gayly-dressed  ladies.  But  not 
a  few  of  the  honest  plebeian  population  %valk  to  the  "  Govern- 
or's Levee ! "  Had  Ben  Franklin  been  there,  and  the  weather 


LIVING  FOR   THOSE   WE   LOVE.  223 

permitted,  I  presume"  he  would  have  preferred  to  walk^  or 
at  least  he  would  have  shown  his  regard  for  those  present 
by  treating  all  with  the  same  urbanity  and  Christian  benevo- 
lence, and  his  disregard  of  those  few  purse-proud  individuals, 
whose  greatest  aspirations  seem  to  be  to  ape  somebody  more 
foolish  than  themselves.  Franklin  used  to  appear  at  court 
in  a  republican  dress,  set  off  by  fine  old  republican  manners; 
and  that  was  honour  enough  for  him  :  but  people  nowadays 
think  too  much  of  rank  and  station,  caste,  and  the  conditions 
of  men,  and  are  growing  uproarious  over  the  "  importance 
of  sustaining  the  dignity  of  office." 

Such  a  man  was  not  Governor  Worth.  He  belonged  to 
the  old  school  of  politicians,  who  have  been  out  of  date  these 
many  years.  He  was  democratic  in  taste  and  feeling  — 
loving  all  mankind,  as  brothers  of  the  same  great  Father 
should  love  one  another.  He  said  he  owed  his  political 
success  and. his  present  exalted  position  to  the  suffrage  of 
the  poor  man,  as  well  as  the  rich.  He  took  special  pleasure 
in  patronizing  the  honest  poor  man,  in  preference  to  the 
rich,  and  would  often  stop  to  grasp  the  rough  palm  of  the 
labourer,  esteeming  him  one  of  the  sovereigns  of  this  great 
democratic  republic.  He  would  never  think  of  questioning 
him  as  to  whether  his  father  was  a  Whig  or  a  Tory ;  his 
grandfather  a  Puritan  or  an  Infidel,  or  whether  he  himself 
was  born  north  or  south  of  "Mason  and  Dixon's  line;"  with 
a  silver  or  a  pewter  spoon  in  his  mouth.  It  was  enough  for 
his  excellency  to  know  that  he  was  an  American  citizen, — 
true  blue,  —  "  ennobled  by  himself,"  "whose  country's  wel- 
fare is  his  first  concern,"  though 

"  Of  manners  rude  and  insolent  of  speech, 
If,  when  the  public  safety  is  in  question, 
His  zeal  flowed  warm  and  eager  from  his  tongue." 

This  great  and  good  man  was  ever,  we  say,  the  friend  of 
the  poor.  His  grand  levees,  held  once  a  month  during  the 


224  SELF-MADE,   OR 

legislative  session,  were  in  keeping  with  all  his  other  —  and 
some  may  think  strange —  ideas  of  equality.  They  were  free 
to  all  —  high  and  low,  rich  and  poor.  Here  at  least,  once  a 
month,  they  were  wont  to  meet,  equal  in  all  respects,  so  far 
as  the  general  hospitalities  were  concerned,  and  treated  with 
the  same  general  regard  by  their  honoured  executive  and  his 
estimahle  lady.  Some  of  their  friends  remonstrated  when 
this  arrangement  was  first  announced.  Not  a  few  preferred 
staying  at  home  to  coming  in  contact  with  a  rabble.  Great 
was  their  surprise  when  they  learned  how  splendidly  every- 
thing passed  off.  The  scheme  "worked  admirably.  There 
was  no  sign  of  a  rabble  ;  but  a  great  throng  of  well-dressed 
and  well-behaved  people,  passed  in  at  the  wide  front  entrance, 
paid  their  respects  to  their  chief  magistrate  and  his  lady, 
chatted  and  looked  around  them  for  a  few  moments,  passed 
on  to  the  refreshment-rooms,  where  was  an  ample  supply 
of  plain  as  well  as  rich  and  delicate  viands,  and  then,  in 
the  same  quiet,  deferential  manner,  left  the  house. 

The  governor  and  Mrs.  Worth  resolved  that  this  first 
reception  should  be  the  standard  for  all  the  others ;  let  all 
come  who  wished  to  ;  let  those  stay  away  whose  prejudices 
would  not  permit  them  to  mingle  with  trades-people  and 
mechanics.  "  When  we  give  a-  private  party,"  said  they, 
"  we  are  privileged  to  invite,  few  or  many,  our  particular 
friends  only  ;  but  our  public  levees  are  for  the  public;  jus- 
tice to  ourselves  and  courtesy  to  them  demand  that  we 
should  entertain  all  by  whose  suffrage  the  governor  holds 
his  office." 

"  Your  friend  seems  to  be  a  very  superior  young  man," 
said  Governor  Worth,  addressing  Miss  Pearson. 

"  Yes  ;  he  is  a  noble  fellow !  high-minded,  persevering, 
self-denying,  aiming  at  something  higher  than  contentment 
in  obscurity :  his  energy  is  surprising.  I  wish  my  brother 
Frank  had  his  talents  and  energy,  and  would  make  him  his 
model." 


LIVING  FOR  THOSE   WE   LOVE.  225 

"  Frank  is  born  to  a  fortune,  and  may,  most  likely,  have 
an  ambition  above  invoices  and  price-currents." 

"  He  does  not  seem  to  have  an  ambition  for  anything  use- 
ful. I  wish  he  had.  Instead  of  studying  a  profession,  he 
wants  to  go  out  as  supercargo  on  the  ship  Chesapeake, 
which  sails  next  month.  It  goes  on  a  three  years'  voyage  to 
the  East  Indies." 

"  There  is  not  much  use  in  tying  a  boy  down  to  a  profes- 
sion, if  his  tastes  lead  him  in  an  opposite  direction.  A  three 
years'  cruise  round  half  the  globe  may  satisfy  his  desire  for 
travel ;  and  then  he  will  not  be  too  old  to  study  for  a  profes- 
sion and  settle  down.  He  graduated  well.  Let  him  see 
something  of  the  world,  arid  then,  depend  upon  it,  he  will 
resume  his  studies  with  increased  zeal." 

"  You,  sir,  are  older  and  wiser  than  I  am ;  but  I  feel  as- 
sured, if  he  breaks  in  upon  his  studies  now,  and  takes  that 
voyage  to  China,  he  will  never  be  a  lawyer.  He  has  little 
taste  for  study,  and  dislikes  confinement  above  all  things. 
Only  for  pa's  promising  him  a  one  third  interest  in  the  ship 
Chesapeake,  I  fear  he  would  have  left  college  and  run  away 
to  sea !  " 

"Then  let  him  go,  by  all  means.  If  he  does  not  make  a 
lawyer,  he  may  make  something  quite  as  useful ;  and  with 
his  early  correct  training,  and  the  influence  of  a  pious  father 
and  a  loving,  praying  sister,  he  will  scarcely  go  astray." 

UO,  I  wish  he  were  like  Mark  Miller  I "  sighed  Grace. 
"He  is  toiling  night  and  day  to  reach  just  what  brother  Frank 
has  already  within  his  grasp." 

"  That  often  happens.  It  were  a  queer  world  did  all  pos- 
sess the  same  tastes.  If  all  our  aspirations  ran  in  the  same 
channel,  where  were  our  statesmen,  our  noble  mechanics, 
our  authors  and  artists,  our  great  generals  and  naval  com- 
manders, our  painters,  poets,  printers,  and  professors,  our 
worthy  divines  and  self-sacrificing  missionaries?  Men  of 
science,  men  who  have  become  eminent  in  their  professions, 
15 


226  SEEF-MADE,   OR 

have,  as  a  general  thing,  pursued  the  bent  of  their  own 
inclinations,  not  having  had  their  young  minds  warped  ad- 
versely to  their  own  tastes  and  judgment." 

Miss  Pearson  was  but  half  convinced.  She  had  ever  op- 
posed this  wish  of  her  only  brother.  It  was  quite  natural 
that  she  should  desire  him  to  adopt  a  profession,  or  a  busi- 
ness that  would  keep  them  together.  Sometimes  she  felt 
that  coercive  measures  were  justifiable ;  but  Frank  had 
always  been  such  a  good  brother  to  her,  communicating 
his  plans  as  soon  as  he  formed  them  in  his  own  thoughts, 
and  with  such  an  open,  undisguised,  confiding  simplicity, 
that  it  seemed  almost  like  betraying  confidence  to  oppose 
him  further. 

As  we  shall  not  have  occasion  to  speak  of  Frank  Pearson 
again,  —  he  having  but  little  to  do  with  the  present  history, 
—  we  will  add,  by  way  of  parenthesis,  that  he  sailed  on 
the  Chesapeake  at  the  appointed  time.  That  vessel  was 
bound  for  the  far  eastern  hemisphere,  and  back  again,  which 
"double  voyage"  then  occupied  about  three  years.  His 
sister's  prophecies  were  fulfilled.  He  never  settled  down 
to  a  profession,  but  became  enamoured  with  the  sea,  often 
repeating,  — 

"  No  scene  half  bright  enough  to  win 
My  young  heart  from  the  sea !  " 

For  many  years  he  was  commander  of  a  noble  packet- 
ship,  and  noted  for  his  uniform  Christian  life  on  sea  and  on 
land.  Once  or  twice,  Grace  and  her  family  sailed  with 
him  around  half  the  globe,  visiting  many  places  of  interest, 
and  nearly  all  the  principal  cities  in  the  old  world. 

Three  full  years  had  passed.  They  had  not  been  altogeth- 
er the  happiest  of  Mark's  life.  A  commercial  life  was  not 
according  to  his  taste.  He  had  made  it  a  very  laborious 
one.  At  times  it  was  irksome.  He  missed  the  free  country 
air,  the  green  and  glossy  fields,  the  bleating  of  the,  sheep  on 


LIVING  FOR  THOSE  WE   LOVE.  22/ 

the  hills  in  this  sweet  pleasant  spring  weather,  the  com- 
panionship of  his  mother,  and  the  old  familiar  tinkle  of  the 
brooklet  that  ran  by  her  door.  He  was  getting  just  a  little 
bit  homesick,  if  the  truth  were  told.  But  the  cherished  pur- 
pose of  his  heart  was  every  day  drawing  nearer  its  accom- 
plishment. He  was  soon  to  enter  college. 

Deacon  and  Mrs.  Sloper  were  on  a  visit  to  their  daughter, 
Mrs.  Loveland.  They  had  seen  Mark  every  day ;  and  it 
would  have  done  your  heart  good  to  see  the  kind,  satisfied 
smile  of  the  old  couple,  when  they  found  how  well  "  their 
dear  boy  "  was  getting  on,  and  how  his  employers  regarded 
him. 

"  I  have  news  for  you,  Mark,"  said  the  worthy  deacon, 
one  day,  entering  the  office  in  a  glow  of  excitement.  "  My 
old  friend  Worth  will  doubtless  be  reelected  to  a  second 
term  of  office,  and  you  are  to  be  appointed  his  private  sec- 
retary. Owing  to  the  ill  health  of  his  present  secretary, 
you  are  to  enter  at  once  upon  your  duties.  It  is  good  for 
another  year,  whether  he  is  reelected  or  not.  I  trust  you 
will  not  decline  this  offer.  The  situation  will  be  more  to 
your  taste  than  your  present  one,  and  you  will  have  an  op- 
portunity of  seeing  something  of  political  life.  You  have 
talents,  energy,  and  ambition ;  and,  though  no  very  great 
thing  in  itself,  you  will  be  thrown  among  a  different  class  of 
men,  and  it  may  prove  a  stepping-stone  to  your  farther  ad- 
vancement." 

"  It  is  very  strange  that  Governor  Worth  should  select  me 
for  this  position  —  a  mere  casual  acquaintance  of  a  few 
months'  standing." 

"  He  has  penetration,  and  he  likes  you ;  and  you  have 
abilities,  and  will  apply  yourself  to  whatever  you  undertake. 
The  road  to  honour  and  distinction  is  open  before  you,  and 
you  justly  deserve  to  win  both." 

"  Many  thanks  for  your  unbounded  generosity,  my  dear, 
kind  friend.  I  feel  that  it  is  all  owing  to  your  love.  Cut  if 


228  SELF-MADE,   OR 

I  accept  this  situation,  I  must  forego  my  long-cherished  de- 
sire of  entering  upon  a  collegiate  course  of  study.  This 
may  for  the  present  appear  the  more  advisable  of  the  two. 
It  would  certainly  be  more  lucrative,  and  all  I  could  desire. 
I  have  hoarded  my  means  with  almost  miserly  care,  and 
have  enough  to  take  me  through.  It  would  be  a  disappoint- 
ment which  I  should  scarcely  outlive.  Besides,  I  shall  have 
my  mother  with  me  during  the  three  years  that  I  am  in 
college." 

"  I  don't  know  but  your  plans  are  better  than  mine,  Mark, 
after  all ;  and  as  you  are  so  bent  on  it,  the  sooner  you  are 
off  to  college  the  better.  But  I  never  supposed  you  had  half 
enough  money  laid  by  to  take  you  through  college,  seeing 
you  have  always  done  so  much  for  your  mother.  There's 
many  a  dollar  that'll  be  wanting,  I'm  afeared.  And,  Mark, 
—  now  mind  what  I'm  say  ing  to  you,  —  if  you  should  ever  want 
money  for  your  college  expenses,  or  to  start  you  in  business 
when  you're  through,  remember  uncle  Enoch  has  a  few 
hundred  at  your  disposal.  Yes,  Mark,  go  to  college,  by  all 
means.  I  sort  o'  opposed  your  pulling  up  stakes  and  leav- 
ing Sorreltown  ;  but  you  was  right  about  it.  Go  ahead.  I 
guess  the  govnor  must  find  another  secretary.  But  what's 
that  you  were  saying  about  having  your  mother  with  you 
while  in  college?  Do  you  suppose  she  is  not  well  taken  care 
of?  I  tell  you,  Mark,  she  is  like  one  of  the  family,  —  we 
should  miss  her  sadly  ;  though  I  know  she  pines  about  you, 
and  many  a  sigh  escapes  her  when  she  is  not  aware  of  it." 

"  I  am  her  only  child,  and  our  separation  shall  not  be 
protracted  one  hour  longer  than  I  can  help  it.  She  must 
be  with  me,  —  I  cannot  endure  another  three  years'  absence 
from  her." 

"  Yes,  it  has  been  a  long,  tedious  absence  to  her  ;  though 
she  is  always  cheerful  and  hopeful,  because  you  write  her 
such  loving  letters,  and  she  knows  how  well  you  are  getting 
along.  What  mother's  heart  would  not  be  happy  to  know 


LIVING  FOR   THOSE   WE   LOVE.  229 

she  had  such  a  dutiful  son  ?  Mark,  you  are  an  honour  to  your 
birthplace.  I  hope  to  live  to  see  you  come  back  to  us,  to 
spend  your  days  among  those  who  will  ever  be  proud  of 
you." 

"  God  bless  and  preserve  you !  "  was  Mark's  tearful  re- 
sponse. "  When  I  send  for  my  mother,"  he  added,  "  you 
will  please  help  her  to  dispose  of  her  things,  and  see  her 
comfortably  started  on  her  journey." 

O,  these  partings  and  separations !  How  they  wring  the 
heart!  Mark  felt  as  if  his  father  had  left  him.  But  the 
thought  that  in  two  months  he  should  see  his  mother,  and 
be  living  with  her  again  under  one  roof,  supported  him  under 
the  trials  of  this  and  other  partings  that  were  soon  to  follow. 

The  "  firm  "  had  held  out  large  inducements  for  him  to 
remain  with  them.  Mr.  Loveland  had  said,  "  Miller,  my 
dear  fellow,  here  is  the  place  of  '  receiving  teller '  in  the 
bank  ready  for  your  acceptance."  Mr.  Newell,  who  had 
returned  with  his  family  to  New  York,  had  written  him 
that,  did  he  feel  disposed  to  relinquish  his  purpose  of  enter- 
ing college,  there  was  a  fine  opportunity  for  him  to  engage 
in  a  lucrative  and  permanent  business. 

But  to  all  these  generous  offers  he  turned  a  deaf  ear.  His 
heart  overflowed  with  gratitude  to  these  friends  for  their  con- 
tinued kindness  —  gratitude  which, 

"  Like  curls  of  holy  incense,  overtake 
Each  other  in  his  bosom,  and  enlarge 
With,  their  embrace  his  sweet  remembrance." 


230  SELF-MADE,   OR 


CHAPTER     XXV. 

COLLEGE  LIFE. 

4 'The  youth 

Proceeds  the  paths  of  science  to  explore ; 
And  now,  expanded  to  the  beams  of  truth, 
New  energies  and  charms  unknown  before 
His  mind  discloses." 

BEATTIE. 


]E  will  avoid  all  the  dry  and  uninteresting  details 
of  Mark's  life  while  in  college.  The  life  of  one 
student  does  not  differ  materially  from  that  of 
another.  One  day  is  so  very  much  like  all  the 
days  of  the  year,  that  a  student  almost  loses  his  count  of 
time.  Mark  entered  college  with  the  same  resolute  will 
and  steady  perseverance  that  he  entered  upon  his  clerkship 
with  Messrs.  Gedney  &  Wright.  As  these  qualities  and 
principles  of  the  heart  and  mind  soon  won  for  him  the  re- 
spect and  confidence  of  his  employers,  so  they  afterwards 
won  for  him  the  esteem  and  admiration  of  his  classmates 
and  teachers.  He  had  already  the  foundation  of  a  good 
classical  education.  The  text-books  used  in  preparatory 
classes  had  all  been  gone  through  with  under  his  gentle  and 
efficient  instructress  Grace  Pearson.  His  life  had  ever  been, 
and  would  ever  be,  a  laborious  one ;  whatever  he  did  was 
done  with  all  the  strength  of  his  powerful  will.  Hard  at 
work  all  day,  studying  hard  far  into  night.  In  him  his 
teachers  discovered,  if  not  an  unusually  brilliant,  a  working, 
ambitioiis  scholar. 


LIVING  FOR   THOSE  WE   LOVE. 


231 


He  soon  became  the  star  scholar  of  his  class,  and  his 
classmates,  to  keep  up  with  him,  had  to  work  with  in- 
creased energy  and  take  fewer  hours  for  recreation. 

Mark  led  no  hermit's  life.  Neither  did  he  isolate  himself 
from  his  fellow-students  during  the  hours  of  recreation,  hut 
mingled  freely  in  all  their  innocent  and  athletic  sports,  be- 
lieving that  "  nobody  's  healthful  without  exercise." 

In  the  prosecution  of  the  different  sciences,  and  in  the 
study  of  the  languages,  his  great  ability  to  acquire  and  re- 
tain knowledge  was  constantly  displaying  itself.  The  diffi- 
cult problems  of  the  higher  mathematics  were  mastered  — 
not  without  effort  and  application  —  but  they  were  mastered; 
and  in  them  he  found  intense  delight.  His  evenings  were 
devoted  to  demonstrating  them. 

In  the  science  of  astronomy  he  took  especial  delight.  He 
entered  upon  this  with  an  alacrity  and  enthusiasm  surprising 
even  to  himself.  He  loved  to  gaze  upon  the  blue  evening 
sky,  when  it  was  studded  with  bright  stars,  when  the  round 
full  moon,  midway  in  the-tf rmament,  — 

"  Hung  like  a  gem  on  the  brow  of  the  night,"  — 

while  her  serene,  soft  light  fell  like  sheets  of  silver  on  all 
below.  "  Orion,  with  its  circlet  of  hazy  gold,"  Venus  with 
her  burning  eye,  the  Polar  Star,  the  Dipper,  — 

"  Shining  in  order,  like  a  living  hymn 
Written  in  light,"  — 

had  ever  seemed  like  friends  sympathizing  in  his  utter  lone- 
liness. His  thoughts  would  turn  aptly  from  contemplating 
"  the  pearly  depths  through  which  they  spring "  to  a  scene 
behind  the  veil  of  mortal  ken. 

From  early  childhood,  when  he  was  wont  to  give  way  to 
gloomy  forebodings,  did  a  weight  of  grief  press  upon  his 
heart ;  did  the  world  seem  cold  as  the  snow-clad  hills  with- 
out ;  did  his  hard  fate  seem  by  the  "  potent  stars  ordained  ;" 


232  SELF-MADE,   OR 

did  a  mist  sometimes  hang  upon  his  brow  and  dissolve  itself 
into  tears.  Those  tearful  orbs  were  raised  heavenward, 
where  he  learned  the  majesty  and  goodness  of  God,  who 
never  errs  in  the  disposition  of  the  meanest  creature  of  his 
care. 

Of  rhetoric  —  a  study  that  students  generally  consider  re- 
markably dry  and  unprofitable  —  Mark  was  particularly  fond. 
While  acquiring  the  elements  of  this  all-important  science, 
he  listened  attentively  to  the  declamations  of  the  older  stu- 
dents, thereby  becoming  master  of  much  that  he  could  never 
have  learned  from  books. 

His  first  attempt  at  declamation  (the  first  since  he  left 
the  old  school-house  at  Sorrel  Hill,  where  he  was  always 
laughed  at)  was  awkward  in  the  extreme,  provoking  smiles 
from  the  gravest  faces. 

He  supposed,  like  many  an  older  and  more  experienced 
aspirant  for  oratorical  fame,  that  great  emphasis  on  certain 
words,  and  much  gesticulation,  are  calculated  to  impress  upon 
his  auditors  what,  without  these,  they  had  not  sense  enough 
to  comprehend. 

It  did  not  occur  during  the  regular  daily  session,  when  the 
faculty  and  visitors  were  present,  but  on  an  evening  set  apart 
for  extemporaneous  and  oratorical  exercises,  when  each  and 
all  were  granted  the  liberty  of  criticising  their  fellow-stu- 
dents' masterly  efforts.  These  evenings  resulted  in  a  little 
benefit  to  each,  and  much  merriment  to  all. 

Mark  stumbled  through  his  "  set  speech,"  and  descended 
from  the  rostrum,  amidst  the  wildest  shouts  of  well-feigned 
applause.  This  being  quite  in  order,  he  joined  in  the  laugh 
against  himself,  good  naturedly,  but  paused,  ere  he  took  his 
seat,  to  say,  — 

"  Laugh  on  now,  sirs  !  but  you  shall  one  day  be  made  to 
cry  —  when  the  charming  strains  of  my  classic  eloquence 
shall  fill  the  world  with  dumb  wonder,  when  the  deep  dia- 
pason of  my  voice  shall  roll  out  like  'young  earthquakes  at 


LIVING  FOR  THOSE   WE   LOVE.  233 

their  birth.'  Though  the  Fates  have  bequeathed  to  me  no 
rich  legacy  of  wit  and  humour,  and  though  my  commanding 
form  and  brilliant  genius  fail  to  win  the  hearts  of  my  audi- 
tory (especially  the  feminine  portion  of  it),  yet  I  shall  pro- 
ceed to  demolish  the  beautifully-wrought  theory  of  my  an- 
tagonists, whoever  they  may  be,  in  an  eloquent  strain, '  short 
particular  metre.'  The  loud  huzzas  that  ever  follow  sound 
logic  and  terse  reasoning  will  drown  the  feeble  acclaims 
which  the  eloquence  of  my  opponent,  with  his  fine  poetical 
phrases  and  'foppery  of  tongue'  might  call  forth.  I  tell 
you,  fellow-citizens,  your  necks  will  ache,  gazing  at  me 
from  my  proud  eminence.  I  shall  never  pause  till  a  great 
height  is  won,  and  shall  really  pity  the  Liliputian  efforts  of 
any  one  who  dares  hazard  life  and  limb  in  his  attempts  to 
outstrip  me." 

Mark  took  his  seat  amidst  a  burst  of  applause  that  made 
the  house  shake.  There  was  something  so  thrillingly  ludi- 
crous in  his  gesticulations  and  personations,  that  it  was  long 
ere  order  and  quiet  were  restored. 

This  short  impromptu  speech  inspired  others  to  try  their 
wits  at  extemporizing,  which  generally  consisted  in  lively 
sallies  of  wit,  and  humorous  repartee,  in  neither  of  which 
was  Mark  behind  his  fellows.  He  soon  became  a  great  fa- 
vourite in  these  debates,  his  presence  calling  forth  the  keenest 
witticisms,  his  absence  deplored  as  a  something  missed  which 
nothing  else  could  supply. 

These  hours  did  not  interfere  with  his  studies,  else  his  scat 
in  the  debating  club  had  always  been  vacant.  So  great  was 
his  desire  to  graduate  in  a  given  time,  that  no  more  hours 
were  given  to  recreation  and  pastime  than  health  demanded. 
"His  thirst  for  knowledge  was  insatiable,  and  such  \vas 
the  pleasure  he  derived  from  the  pursuit  of  his  different 
studies,  that  he  seemed  insensible  to  fatigue,  and  averse  to 
trespassing  in  any  wise  upon  hours  allotted  to  study."  One 
great  thing  in  Mark's  favour  was  his  strong,  healthy,  robust 


234  SELF-MADE,   OR 

constitution.  He  had  seldom  seen  a  sick  day.  It  would  not 
in  all  cases  be  wise  for  boys  to  take  him  for  an  example,  and 
push  themselves  beyond  what  their  strength  can  bear. 

The  superiority  of  his  intellect  was  not  more  clearly  de- 
fined than  in  other  young  men  of  his  own  age ;  neither  was 
he  remarkable  for  the  keenness  of  his  perceptive  faculties ; 
in  his  retentive  memory,  and  his  earnest,  untiring  industry, 
was  the  secret  of  his  great  proficiency. 

In  one  of  his  letters  Mark  describes  a  secret  society  called 
the  Mohegans.  "  They  meet,"  writes  he,  "  in  the  rooms  of 
the  members,  and  spend  the  evening  in  smoking  tobacco  and 
contriving  some  mischief.  One  of  their  favourite  amusements 
is  to  adjourn  to  the  room  of  some  freshman,  and  under  pre- 
tence of  making  him  a  friendly  call,  invite  themselves  to  a 
smoke  around  his  table,  until  the  fumes  are  often  so  sicken- 
ing as  to  drive  him  from  the  room.  Meanwhile  they  secretly 
amuse  themselves  with  his  attempts  to  be  civil  and  hospita- 
ble in  spite  of  the  blinding  and  strangling  puffs  they  inces- 
santly roll  into  his  face.  If  any  poor  freshman  resents  this, 
or  for  any  cause  is  suspected  by  them  of  being  a  spy,  they 
visit  his  room,  and  having  locked  the  door,  and  so  made  him 
prisoner,  they  place  the  hollow  hemisphere  of  a  large  pump- 
kin on  the  table,  fill  it  with  tobacco,  and  then  place  the  bowls 
of  their  long  lighted  pipes  within  this  mass  of  the  weed,  and 
blow  until  the  room  is  filled  with  smoke.  When  the  tobacco 
is  reduced  to  ashes,  they  seat  the  freshman  before  the  pump- 
kin, and  demand  of  him  a  chemical  analysis  of  its  contents. 
While  he  is  looking  into  the  ashes,  one  of  the  Mohegans 
suddenly  claps  the  pumpkin  on  the  head  of  the  chemist,  ex- 
pressing the  hope  that  the  ideas  contained  in  his  new  study- 
cap  will  strike  through  his  skull,  and  so  help  him  very 
materially  in  his  scientific  investigations.  Two  weeks  ago 
last  night  the  freshmen  found  a  good  opportunity  to  retaliate 
on  the  Mohegans.  Early  in  the  day  some  one  of  the  former 
learned  that  the  latter  were  going  that  night  to  make  a  bon- 


LIVING  FOR  THOSE   WE  LOVE.  235 

fire  of  Professor  Wells's  old  covered   gig,  a  vehicle  that, 
having  been  placed  on  the  retired  list,  had  long  stood  under 
an  open  woodshed.     And  so  the  freshmen  contrived,  in  the 
dusk  of  the  evening,  to  conceal  a  small  keg  of  gunpowder 
under  the  seat  of  the  gig,  and  at  a  late  hour  to  hide  them- 
selves, armed  with  tin  horns,  cow-bells,  and  old  muskets,  in 
the  trees  that  bordered  one  side  of  the  field  in  which  they 
observed  the  Mohegans  were  stealthily  building  a  huge  pile, 
made  of  rails,  brush,  straw,  and  such  other  combustibles  as 
they   could   steal   from   haystacks,   barns,   and  woodsheds. 
Accordingly,  about  midnight  the  flames  were  seen  to  burst 
suddenly  from  the  martyr  pyre,  revealing  the  outline  of  the 
°ld  gig>  which  had  been  placed  astride  the  fuel.     Not  long 
after,  the  Mohegans  appeared,  disguised  in  a  variety  of  Indian 
costumes  and  mounted  upon  horses,  which  they  had  either 
stolen  or  hired  from  the  neighbouring  farmers.     They  rode 
these  horses  without  saddle  or  bridle,  and  some  of  them  with- 
out even  a  halter.     This  savage  procession  galloped,  yelling 
and  whooping,  round  the  bonfire  in  a  circle,  but  at  such  a 
distance  that  they  were  but  dimly  visible,  except  when  the 
flames  flared  with  unusual  splendor.     When  the  powwow 
was  at  its  height,  the  seat  of  the  old  gig  caved,  occasioning 
an   alarming  explosion,  which  scattered  the  bonfire  in  all 
directions,  tossed  the  two  flaming  wheels  across  the  field, 
right  and  left,  and  flung  the  old  leathern  gig-top  high  into 
the  air.     The  horses  were  so  frightened  by  this  combustion, 
that  they  either  tln-ew  their  riders,  or  ran  away  with  them 
into  the  distant  darkness.     The  explosion  was  to  have  been 
the  signal  for  the  treed  freshmen  to  blow  their  horns,  ring 
their  bells,  and  discharge  their  muskets.     But  the  dispersion 
of  the  Mohegans  was  so  sudden  and  complete  that  their  ad- 
versaries could  do  nothing  but  laugh.    And  it  was  some  time 
before  any  one  could  muster  sufficient  gravity  to  blow  a  horn 
or  pull  a  trigger." 

The  weeks  and  months  sped  away.    Mark  was  happier 


236  SELF-MADE,   OR 

than  he  had  ever  been  before.  The  one  great  desire  of  hm 
life  had  a  fair  beginning,  and  seemed  most  likely  to  have  a 
prosperous  ending.  His  little  life-boat,  now  fairly  afloat  on 
the  sea  of  adventure,  had  thus  far  drifted  smoothly  with  the 
tide.  The  "  breakers  "  were  far  away  in  the  distance,  and 
might  never  oppose  so  good  a  pilot  as  he. 

The  greatest  source  of  his  earthly  happiness  was  his  dear 
mother's  presence.  They  were  once  more  together.  Their 
"  ane  ingle  blinkin'  bonnilie "  warmed  and  cheered  these 
two  devoted  beings,  who  were  never  more  in  this  life  to  be 
separated.  They  were  enabled  to  rent  a  small  house  upon 
the  outskirts  of  the  city,  which  was  both  neat  and  comforta- 
ble, and  furnished  with  everything  necessary  for  their  con- 
venience and  happiness. 

A  young  student  occupied  a  room  with  Mark  ;  and  for  the 
three  years  that  they  were  in  college  they  were  as  brothers 
of  one  family,  —  the  good  mother  dispensing  her  love  and 
kindness  to  both,  as  though  both  were  her  sons.  They  were 
always  seen  together.  The  boys  used  to  say  they  lived  in 
each  other's  shadow.  Together  they  walked  the  three  quar- 
ters of  a  mile  between  the  college  and  home ;  together  they 
conned  their  tasks  by  the  bright  lamp-light  or  the  warm  win- 
ter's fire.  Over  this  young  student  —  his  junior  by  three  years 
—  Mark  had  an  unbounded  influence,  as  he  seemed  to  have 
over  others  who  knew  him  well.  And  so  deep  and  true  was 
the  affection  of  both  mother  and  son  for  their  young  guest, 
so  devoted  was  he  in  his  attachment  to  them,  that  in  after 
years  —  in  their  earlier  and  later  manhood  —  they  ever  re- 
verted to  that  humble  home,  and  the  time  passed  under  that 
lowly  roof,  as  by  far  the  happiest  of  their  whole  lives. 

He  was  very  unlike  Mark  in  one  respect  —  he  seemed 
wholly  dependent  on  the  circumstances  that  surrounded  him. 
On  a  calm,  sunny  day,  or  in  the  society  of  gay  companions, 
he  would  indulge  in  a  flow  of  animal  spirits  that  by  some 
was  deemed  excessive ;  but  in  dull,  rainy  weather,  —  espe- 


LIVING   FOR   THOSE   WE   LOVE. 


237 


cially  if  left  to  himself,  —  he  was  gloomy  and  taciturn,  in- 
dulging in  long,  silent  reveries,  which  were  calculated  to 
leave  unhappy  impressions  on  his  character.  He  was  one 
whom  others  would  never  think  of  looking  up  to  or  leaning 
upon  for  support :  he  was  ever  the  one  to  look  up  to  and  lean 
upon  others.  Yet  there  was  nothing  weak  or  effeminate  in 
his*  character ;  he  was  true,  and  pure  in  heart  and  principle, 
frank  and  generous,  only  he  had  never  been  taught  the  im- 
portance of  self-reliance.  It  was  not  strange  that  he  should 
cast  himself  upon  and  cling  to  a  companion  like  Mark, 
with  his  strong  opinions,  brave  heart,  and  unconquerable 
will. 

During  the  three  years  that  he  was  an  inmate  of  the  little 
family,  —  whom  he  ever  after  regarded  as  allied  to  him  by 
the  ties  of  a  deep  and  lasting  affection,  —  he  learned  that  our 
happiness,  though  it  may  be  somewhat  affected  by,  is  not 
wholly  dependent  on,  externals,  —  that  there  is  within  our 
souls  a  well-spring  of  happiness,  fathomless  and  never-fail- 
ing, which  at  times  will  overflow  in  little  rills  of  joy  and 
love,  bearing  away  upon  its  eddying  bosom  all  the  dark, 
inhuman  passions  of  our  natures,  and  in  its  circling  course, 
returning  with  rich  argosies  freighted  with  the  kindliest 
feelings,  the  happiest  thoughts,  the  noblest  aspirations  of 
which  we  are  capable,  bringing  forth  to  a  new  life,  from 
under  the  loam  of  selfishness  and  carnal  enjoyments,  ardent 
longings  for  the  good,  the  true,  the  beautiful,  the  heavenly. 

Many  other  things  he  learned  from  these  true  friends.  He 
learned  something  of  that  home-happiness  of  which  till  now 
he  had  little  knowledge.  He  was  taught,  by  the  daily  con- 
sistent Christian  lives  of  mother  and  son,  that  "  godliness, 
with  contentment,  is  great  gain." 

He  used  to  say,  "  The  great  wide  world  must  ever  be  my 
home,  and  no  more  of  love  than  what  is  shared  by  the  com- 
mon brotherhood  of  mankind."  Experience  had  taught  him 
that  the  world  was  chary  of  its  favours,  —  that  Fortune  gen- 


238  SELF-MADE,    OR 

erally  caresses  those  who  can  brave  her  "  threatening  eye  " 
with  still  more  defiant  looks  ! 

He  never  would  have  had  a  heart  to  battle  with  either, 
but  for  the  practical  examples  and  lessons  learned  here. 

Nothing  unites  people  like  a  common  interest,  or  a  com- 
mon object  to  work  for,  —  unless  it  be  a  common  sorrow : 

even  then,  — 

"  Storms  divided 
Abate  their  force,  and  with  less  rage  are  guided." 

These  two  young  men  were  striving  for  one  and  the  same 
object,  with  the  same  goal  in  view.  Born  neither  to  afflu- 
ence nor  influence,  they  had  both  to  carve  out  their  destinies 
single-handed. 

Prosperity  was  to  crown  the  efforts  of  the  one,  though  his 
classmates  persisted  in  saying  that  oratory  was  not  his  forte  ; 
and  it  was  not.  An  ever-active  mind,  and  a  strong,  resolute 
purpose,  enabled  him  to  master  this  art. 

The  other,  though  a  fine,  generous,  open-hearted  fellow, 
always  sanguine  and  hopeful,  and  quite  sure  that  his  plans 
will  somehow  succeed,  and  fully  conscious  of  his  abilities  to 
do  all  that  is  required  of  him,  lacks  the  great  energizing 
powers  of  mind  so  absolutely  necessary  to  the  accomplish- 
ment of  his  purposes. 

The  world  is  full  of  just  such  men.  For  instance,  —  two 
are  seeking  the  same  office.  The  one  is  modest  and  retiring, 
though  in  every  way  qualified  to  perform  the  duties  of  said 
office  acceptably  and  honourably,  as  his  friends  well  know. 
But  he  is  wanting  in  mental  force,  or  is  too  diffident  to  push 
himself  forward,  and  go  to  work  to  obtain  it.  And  while 
he  is  waiting,  and  hoping  to  have  his  friends  petition  for  his 
acceptance,  or  to  have  it  thrust  upon  him,  some  other  man 
—  his  inferior  in  every  respect  save  that  of  energy,  but  one 
who  can  shrewdly  pettifog  his  own  case  —  will  always  slip 
in  ahead  of  him,  and  bear  away  the  honours. 

There  is  an  old  adage —  "  Show  me  the  father,  and  I  will 


LIVING   FOR   THOSE  WE   LOVE.  230 

show  you  the  daughter;  show  me  the  mother,  and  I  will 
show  you  the  son."  This  may  be  true  in  most  cases — the 
history  of  our  two  principal  characters  certainly  leans  that 
way  ;  but  what  of  the  child  who  is  left  to  himself?  Thrown 
upon  the  world  with  no  natural  guardians,  no  one  to  love 
or  take  any  particular  interest  in  him,  dependent  on  his  own 
inherent  principles  and  judgment,  —  with  no  other  guide 
than  these,  he  is  apt  to  run  into  extremes.  He  forms  a  char- 
acter to  himself.  He  is  either  broken  in  spirit,  has  no  heart 
to  buffet  with  opposing  elements,  or  brave  those  whose  only 
wish  is  to  make  him  a  dependent.  He  will  either  become 
very  brave  and  stout-hearted,  or  very  timid  and  obedient. 
How  sad  is  the  destiny  of  such  a  child ! 

Days,  weeks,  and  months  passed  away.  They  glided  so 
imperceptibly  one  into  the  other,  there  was  scarcely  begin- 
ning or  ending  of  the  seasons,  or  the  years.  Their  young 
protege  became  every  day  more  endeared  to  Mrs.  Miller 
and  her  son,  and  they,  in  every  way,  necessary  to  his  happi- 
ness. He  was  timid  and  dependent  by  nature ;  and  Mark 
was  often  called  upon  to  shield  him  from  the  mischievous 
persecutions  of  the  younger  students,  whose  delight  it  seemed 
to  be  to  tease  and  annoy  those  of  more  quiet  and  docile  tem- 
peraments. A  feeling  of  loneliness,  and  often  wretchedness, 
for  his  orphaned  and  unconnected  situation,  makes  him  at 
times  a  girl  at  heart  —  he  sometimes  wishes  he  was  ;  for  then 
some  one  would  take  him  kindly  by  the  hand,  and  love  him 
for  sweet  charity's  sake.  His  young  life  had  been  a  lonely 
one.  Now  he  is  with  just  such  friends  as  a  nature  like  his 
requires.  Thanks  to  a  kind,  protecting  Providence  for  di- 
recting him  hither  !  Thanks  to  these  friends  for  preserving 
him  from  that  cold,  unfeeling  cynicism  which  unloved  child- 
hood is  apt  to  acquire. 

If  a  cup  of  water  given  to  a  wayfarer  will  receive  its 
reward,  many  blessings  shall  be  on  the  heads  of  those  who 
administer  "  hearts-ease  "  to  friendless,  orphaned  childhood. 


240  SELF-MADE,    QR 

Their  healing  leaves  and  heavenly  balm  shall  sustain  their 
own  spirits  when  they  faint  under  the  burdens  of  life.  The 
blessed  memory  of  one  such  benevolent  deed  shall  cheer  the 
heart  until  it  ceases  to  beat. 

They  are  a  very  happy  household.  One  is  daily  learning 
lessons  of  self-reliance,  and  independence  of  thought  and 
action,  which  will  in  after  years  be  a  better  capital  than 
gold  and  silver  to  start  him  in  business. 

Another  is  already  reaping  the  reward  of  these  virtues. 
The  precious  seed  sown  in  his  young  heart  is  bringing  forth 
fruit  a  hundred  fold  :  he  is  not  only  self-reliant,  —  he  thinks 
for  himself  and  others ;  and  these  virtues  and  graces  of  his 
character  "  spring  from  the  best  of  all  roots  —  a  truthful, 
pious  heart." 

The  mother  moves  cheerfully  about  her  household  matters, 
as  in  the  old  days,  or  sits  quietly  sewing  or  knitting  all  the 
evening,  while  the  boys  study,  —  her  eyes  glistening  with 
silent  joy,  and  her  heart  too  full,  and  too  near  the  one  other 
throbbing  in  unison  with  her  own,  to  need  the  "  intervention 
of  many  words." 

She  looks  just  as  she  did  that  night  when  Mark  and  Nettie 
and  she  sat  together  in  the  glowing  firelight  at  the  old  home. 


LIVING  FOR   THOSE   WE  LOVE. 


241 


CHAPTER    XXVI. 
NETTIE   STRANGE  AND  HER  MOTHERLESS   CHARGE. 

"  Within  her  heart  was  his  image, 

Clothed  in  the  beauty  of  love  and  youth 
As  last  she  beheld  him, 
Only  more  beautiful  made  by  his  death-like 
Silence  and  absence." 

LONGFELLOW. 

!IX  years  have  passed  away  —  years  of  indispensa- 
ble, patient  toil  to  Nettie  Strange,  who  is  now  a 
blooming  maiden  of  eighteen. 

Six  years  had  a  graceful  willow  drooped  over 
the  little  green  hillock  where  lay  her  mother  in  that  dream- 
less sleep  that  knows  no  waking  until  the  resurrection. 
Long  years  had  it  cast  its  mournful  shadow,  or  shed  its  soft 
dews  upon  a  spot  that  had  no  monument  to  tell  who  slum- 
bered beneath.  It  was  known  to  few.  But  there  was  one 
loving  heart  that  ever  turned  to  it  when  oppressed  with 
thoughts  too  holy  and  sacred  for  the  world  to  know.  All 
around  were  the  stern  emblems  of  death.  Over  the  whole 
field  brooded  the  spirit  of  desolation.  There  were  a  few 
plain  white  slabs,  with  the  names  and  ages  of  the  deceased 
engraved  on  them  ;  but  the  most  were  rough,  flat  rocks,  with 
a  single  initial,  or  perhaps  two,  with  the  date  rudely  carved, 
and  some  with  stakes  at  the  head  and  foot,  others  with 
not  even  these.  How  lonesome  and  desolate  it  looked ! 
Save  the  willow  that  Nettie's  hand  had  planted,  no  graceful 
trees,  no  sweet  flowers,  were  there  ;  but  everything  spoke  of 
16 


242  SELF-MADE,    OR 

death  and  decay ;  nothing  to  remind  one  of  the  glorious 
reunion  beyond. 

From  her  mother's  grave  the  child  had  come  back  a 
woman.  She  did  not  weep  much ;  the  tears  had  settled 
around  her  heart ;  for  there  was  a  heavy  pain  there.  The 
little  wailing  infant,  which  her  dying  mother  confided  to  her 
care,  had  always  nestled  to  her  heart,  as  if  she  was  indeed 
its  mother.  The  thought  of  self  was  gone,  if  it  ever  had  a 
place  in  her  nature.  She  had  no  separate  life  from  the  one 
which  found  its  all  of  happiness  in  living  for  the  vvelfai'e  and 
happiness  of  others.  Her  father  looks  up  to  her  as  to  a 
superior  being ;  her  brothers  and  sisters  love  and  respect 
her,  while  they  try  to  imitate  her  blessed  example.  They 
think  sometimes,  what  if  she  too  were  to  be  taken  from 
them  !  Their  obedience  and  kindness  to  one  another  great- 
ly diminish  the  numberless  household  tasks  of  their  sister. 
More  like  an  angel  than  like  a  mortal  she  seemed  when 
directing  their  young  lips  to  form  themselves  in  prayer,  or 
their  sweet  voices  in  singing  their  evening  hymn. 

Benny,  who  seemed  more  self-willed  and  stubborn  than 
the  others,  declined  to  say  his  prayers,  unless  he  could  pray 
for  mother  and  Janie  just  the  same  as  if  they  were  living. 
Nettie  had  said  to  the  children  —  as  they  were  in  the  habit 
of  asking  God's  blessing  for  "  father  and  mother,  brothers 
and  sisters,  and  Janie  too  "  —  it  was  not  necessary  to  in- 
clude mother  and  little  sister  Janie,  as  they  were  both  in 
heaven,  where  they  would  never  need  our  prayers  more. 
The  children  were  surprised  at  this  doctrine.  Benny  re- 
mained incorrigible,  and  their  sister  could  not  easily  explain 
it  to  them,  or  understand  the  'why  herself.  Although  she 
had  appealed  to  her  father,  and  he  had  told  them  that  the 
prayers  of  the  living  availed  nothing  for  the  dead,  yet  it 
seemed  such  an  act  of  filial  love  and  reverence  on  Benny's 
part,  Nettie  had  not  the  heart  to  remonstrate.  Besides,  she 
always  said  that  it  was  so  natural  for  her  to  include  all  her 


LIVING   FOR   THOSE   WE   LOVE.  243 

loved  ones  in  her  petitions  to  the  throne  of  grace,  she  hoped 
it  was  no  sin  to  pray  for  her  beloved  dead. 

"  They  are  ever  in  my  thoughts,"  she  said  ;  "  and  when  I 
ask  for  God's  pitying,  sustaining  grace,  to  rest  upon  my 
father,  his  love,  and  watchcare,  and  guiding  hand  to  keep 
the  rest  of  us  in  the  little  path  wherein  we  are  to  walk,  I 
feel  as  if  something  were  left  unsaid,  some  great  blessing 
yet  unasked  for.  It  seemed  so  singular  that,  though  I  had 
prayed  for  my  mother  ever  since  my  infant  lips  could  lisp 
her  name,  yet  the  night  after  she  died  I  was  to  omit  that 
name,  now  dearer  than  ever,  and  I  must  never  again  mingle 
it  with  ours,  but  my  lips  must  henceforth  be  as  silent  as  hers. 
I  felt  that  I  had  slighted  her  love,  that  I  had  not  paid  the 
respect  to  her  memory  that  it  deserved.  And  though  my 
lips  were  sealed,  my  heart  was  ever  saying,  '  Bless  those 
whom  Thou  hast  taken  from  us ;  our  dear  ones  whom  Thou 
hast  with  Thee  in  eternity.  Let  them,  O  my  Father,  dwell 
very  near  to  Thee,  and  approach  nearer  and  nearer  the  great 
white  throne,  until  they  are  as  the  angels,  who  are  forever 
singing  praises  to  Thy  great  and  holy  name.  May  the  sweet 
bond  of  affection  ever  remain  unbroken,  through  time  and  in 
eternity.'"  Nettie  felt  comforted,  and  better  satisfied  with 
herself,  when  her  voiceless  orisons  were  framed  into  words. 
She  no  longer  was  shocked  at  the  idea  of  Benny's  prayers  for 
"  dear  mother  and  Janie  too  ; "  neither  was  her  conscience 
disturbed  when  words  bearing  the  same  import,  inspired  by 
the  same  love,  gushed  warm  and  ardent  from  her  own  lips. 

As  the  children  grew  older,  they  could  understand  the 
folly  and  the  danger  of  praying  for  the  dead.  Their  father 
taught  them  that  they  might  nevertheless  remember  the 
dead  in  other  ways  and  for  other  purposes ;  and  that  it  was 
both  safe  and  profitable  to  pray  as  follows  :  "  Our  heavenly 
Father,  we  thank  Thee  for  the  good  examples  we  inherit 
from  all  our  kindred  who  have  finished  their  course  in 
faith,  and  we  beg  of  Thee  grace  to  follow  their  virtuous 


244  SELF-MADE,   OR 

and  godly  living,  that  we  may  finally  share  their  glory  and 
felicity." 

In  many  another  way  Ben's  obstinacy,  or  rather  his  inde- 
pendent and  original  way  of  thinking  and  acting,  manifested 
itself.  He  was  very  fond  of  making  a  bargain,  and  would 
oftentimes  surprise  his  father  by  the  shrewdness  and  clever- 
ness with  which  he  effected  a  trade.  He  would  say  to  his 
father  and  his  brother  James,  his  elder  by  four  years,  "  Let 
us  do  this  or  that ;  let  us  summer-fallow  this  field,  or  put  in 
such  a  crop,  instead  of  the  one  you  are  intending  to.  We 
will  make  such  and  such  improvements.  That  old  unsightly 
hayrick  has  got  to  come  down,  for  there  is  just  where  we 
want  our  new  granary  to  stand.  Let  us  not  spend  half  our 
time  in  patching  up  that  old  stake-and-rider  fence.  Just 
demolish  it  at  once,  and  build  one  that's  decent  and  sub- 
stantial." 

His  father's  replies  were  generally  to  the  effect  that  they 
had  no  time  now.  They  would  take  the  first  rainy  day,  or 
some  time  when  they  were  not  so  hurried,  to  do  thus  and 
so.  Ben's  obstinacy  was  made  apparent  by  his  not  always 
waiting  for  the  "  rainy  day,"  and  by  taking  time  into  his 
own  hands. 

On  looking  out  one  spring  morning,  while  the  dew  was 
yet  heavy  on  the  grass,  the  family  were  surprised  to  find  the 
old  cave,  which  had  served  for  a  milk-house,  utterly  demol- 
ished, not  one  old  rotten  log  remaining  upon  another,  and 
Ben  busily  engaged  laying  a  good  and  solid  foundation  of 
stone  and  mortar  for  a  new  one  in  another  place. 

"  What  is  that  boy  up  to  now  ?  " 

"  Going  to  have  a  new  milk-house,  nice  and  clean  from 
top  to  bottom." 

"This  is  no  time  —  the  busiest  in  the  whole  year  —  to 
commence  such  a  job  as  that.  Why  didn't  you  ask  me 
about  it?" 

"  Why,  father,  we  have  been  two  or  three  years  waiting 


LIVING  FOR  THOSE  WE  LOVE.  245 

for  the  right  time  to  come.  This  old  roof  was  just  ready  to 
tumble  down,  any  way.  My  pulling  it  down  may  save  some 
of  us  a  broken  head." 

"  But  the  time  I  the  time !  We  are  very  busy  now  ;  and 
besides  that,  you  can  never  do  it  alone.  I  was  calculat- 
ing, when  we  got  round  to  it,  to  hire  a  mason  and  a  carpen- 
ter, and  have  a  good  milk-house,  built  as  it  ought  to  be 
built." 

Ben  might  have  replied,  had  he  been  a  disrespectful  son, 
that  he  was  quite  sure  the  right  time  had  come  ;  that  if  they 
depended  on  a  mason  and  a  carpenter  to  do  the  work,  and 
their  father  to  superintend  it,  many  a  year  would  elapse 
before  its  completion. 

He  merely  said,  good  naturedly,  knowing  his  father's 
weak  point  about  being  consulted  in  all  matters  in  doors 
and  out,  and  making  it  appear  as  if  really  he  could  not 
expect  to  accomplish  a  task  of  such  magnitude  without  his 
advice  and  assistance,  — 

"  I  can  lay  up  the  walls  as  good  as  a  mason.  They  will 
be  rough,  but  I  am  going  to  plaster  it  outside  and  in.  When 
I  come  to  the  carpenter  work,  why,  you  must  instruct  me ; 
and  take  a  little  time  to  help  me  on  with  the  roof,  and  to  put 
in  the  shelves.  Which  way  would  you  have  the  roof  slant? 
Better  have  the  window  on  the  north  side,  and  the  door 
south  — hadn't  -we?" 

"  Well,  y-e-s,  I  guess  so ;  thaf  s  as  good  a  way  as  any. 
And  now  you  have  commenced  it,  we  may  as  well  all  turn 
to  and  get  the  pesky  thing  done  at  once.  That  old  one  was 
of  very  little  account  in  its  best  days,  and  we  shall  have  the 
milk  often  cows  this  summer.  I  really  don't  know  how  we 
could  have  got  along  with  the  old  one." 

"  Two  or  three  days'  work  with  your  assistance,  father, 
will  accomplish  the  whole  thing.  You  can,  if  you  please, 
wheel  the  rock  from  the  old  stone  fence  yonder,  and  I  will 
lay  the  wall.  If  James  wishes  to  serve  a  short  apprenticeship 


246  SELF-MADE,   OR 

at  the  business,  he  might  'tend  mason,  and  that  will  hurry 
things  along  still  faster." 

"  I  don't  know  as  anything  is  suffering  to  be  done  in  the 
fields.  It  is  a'most  too  wet  and  cold  to  commence  planting, 
and  I  guess,  come  to  think  on  it,  that  this  is  just  the  best  time 
we  shall  ever  have  to  do  such  little  odd  jobs.  But  what  were 
you  saying  about  wheeling  the  rock  from  the  old  stone  fence  ? 
You  don't  suppose  I'm  going  to  pull  down  that  fence,  do 
you  ?  —  and  turn  the  front  yard,  with  all  of  Nettie's  posies, 
into  the  street !  " 

"  Why,  father,  we  have  been  talking  about  moving  that 
old  stone  pile  these  five  years.  It  mortifies  us  every  time  we 
look  at  it.  It  is  hardly  in  keeping  with  the  nice,  clean  walks, 
and  beds  of  gay  flowers,  and  sweet-climbing  vines,  which  the 
girls  take  so  much  pains  with.  See  how  hard  they  work, 
father,  and  how  much  pride  and  pleasure  they  take  in  mak- 
ing the  place  look  like  a  home  !  We  must  do  our  part,  and 
that  will  lighten  their  toil.  The  work  of  the  daily  will  not 
be  one  half  what  it  has  been  when  we  get  this  all  arranged." 

"  Well,  what's  the  use  of  pulling  down  a  part  of  the  fence 
until  we  get  ready  to  move  the  whole  away  ?  There's  rock 
enough  in  that  fence  to  build  half  a  dozen  such  small 
houses." 

"  Every  rock  has  got  to  come  down,"  replied  Ben,  with 
more  warmth  than  he  had  yet  addressed  to  his  father.  "  And 
we  have  use  for  them  all.  After  the  milk-house,  we  will 
have  a  smoke-house,  and  not  be  obliged  to  hang  our  hams 
in  the  chimney-top.  We  'want  full  half  a  dozen  nice  out- 
buildings, all  standing  in  a  row,  plastered  and  whitewashed ; 
and  the  large  rocks  will  lay  the  foundation  to  the  new  barn." 

"  But  you  talk  as  if  everything  could  be  done  in  a  minute  ! 
You  have  got  such  a  way  of  plunging  into  business,  one 
would  think,  to  hear  you  talk,  that  all  this  must  be  done 
now  or  never!" 

"  No,  father,  we  will  do  one  thing  at  a  time ;   but  we 


LIVING   FOR   THOSE   WE   LOVE.  247 

shall  never  accomplish  anything,  if  we  never  make  a  be- 
ginning." 

Wisely  said,  and  as  wisely  acted  upon,  as  one  after  an- 
other all  these  and  many  more  improvements  rose  to  view  in 
and  around  the  old  homestead. 

Ben  was  generally  the  one  to  put  into  execution,  but  his  was 
not  the  only  head  that  planned  these  improvements.  He  and 
his  older  sister  were  often  seen  consulting  together  in  low 
tones,  the  influence  of  both  being  a  thing  quite  necessary  to 
bring  the  father  over  to  their  way  of  thinking. 

James  was  sometimes  exceedingly  refractory ;  but  he  in- 
herited, or  at  all  events  he  possessed,  his  father's  weakness 
about  his  advice  being  asked,  and  his  cooperative  measures 
being  carried  into  execution. 

Ben  had  said  to  him  one  day,  "  Let  us  try  and  make  a 
wheelbarrow  of  our  own,  and  not  run  a  mile  and  a  half  to 
borrow  one  every  time  we  want  one  to  use." 

"  Make  a  wheelbarrow  !  We  might  as  well  undertake  to 
build  a  meeting-house." 

u  I  see  nothing  so  very  difficult  in  its  construction,  if  we 
only  had  the  tools  to  work  with.  The  iron-work  is  very 
simple,  and  will  not  cost  much.  Suppose  we  try.  I  think 
it's  a  pity  that  two  great  strapping  fellows  like  us  should 
have  it  to  say  that  we  will  not  try  to  make  so  simple  a  thing 
as  this,  because  we  can  borrow  from  our  neighbours." 

James  had  been  consulted  on  the  start,  and  after  a  little 
advice  from  the  village  carpenter,  the  wheelbarrow  was  com- 
menced, and  in  due  time  finished,  to  the  great  satisfaction 
of  the  two  joint  owners. 

They  were  so  well  pleased  with  their  first  piece  of  mech- 
anism, that  they  made  another  and  another,  until  twenty-live 
were  made,  and  sold  at  two  dollars  apiece.  Their  reputa- 
tion as  architects  was  now  established.  They  were  not  sure 
but  they  ought  to  get  out  a  "  patent  right,"  and  set  up  an 
extensive  manufactory. 


248  SELF-MADE,   OR 

When  Mrs.  Miller  moved  away,  she  agreed  with  the  boys 
that  for  a  small  annuity  they  should  till  her  land  and  take 
care  of  the  place.  It  was  only  ten  acres,  but  so  well  was  it 
managed  that  at  the  end  of  the  year  they  found  themselves 
in  possession  of  a  handsome  little  income  ;  and  then  it  was 
all  theirs.  They  had  eai'ned  it  with  their  own  hands,  and 
could  do  what  they  pleased  with  it.  How  to  invest  it  seemed 
to  perplex  them  more  than  how  to  earn  it. 

Great  and  mutual  interests  were  to  arise  from  these  small 
beginnings.  Fora  certain  per  cent,  the  village  blacksmith 
agreed  to  iron  all  the  wheelbarrows  they  would  make  ;  and 
as  they  found  a  ready  sale,  and  very  fair  profits,  they  set 
themselves  to  work  in  good  earnest.  For  several  years  they 
carried  on  this  business  ;  and  when  the  Erie  Canal  was  fin- 
ished, they  had  realized  a  small  fortune  from  the  sale  of  their 
scrapers  and  wheelbarrows. 

Very  few  of  the  villagers  ever  came  to  admire  Nettie's 
home,  or  cheer  the  patient,  hard-working  inmates.  Few  cared 
whether  it  were  prosperous  and  happy,  or  otherwise.  Fewer 
still  were  intimate  friends  of  its  lowly  mistress,  or  they  might 
have  discovered  the  changes  a  few  years  had  wrought  in  her. 
A  serene  spiritual  beauty  irradiated  her  not  unlovely  features, 
giving  to  them  a  softer,  sweeter,  heavenlier  expression,  and 
to  her  graceful  form,  as  it  moulded  into  womanhood,  a  lady- 
like dignified  bearing. 

Within  her  heart  was  the  same  well-spring  of  cheerful 
content  that  ever  diffuses  its  genial  influence  on  all  around  ; 
and  yet  there  was  so  little,  so  very  little,  in  her  outer  life  to 
soften  its  asperities,  or  cheer  its  monotonous  round ! 

It  was  not  until  months  after  her  departure  that  Nettie 
could  summon  fortitude  to  visit  the  old  home  of  Mrs.  Miller. 
At  length  her  birthday,  the  ninth  of  November,  came  round. 
The  children  had  gone  on  a  nutting  excursion,  and  she  re- 
solved on  making  it  a  little  holiday  for  herself.  The  days 


LIVING   FOR  THOSE   WE   LOVE 


249 


were  getting  shorter  and  more  chilly,  and  she  could  defer  it 
no  longer.  She  never  visited  places  "  sacred  to  memory 
dear"  in  company  with  others  — the  graveyard,  and  the 
old  haunt  under  the  great  hickory,  where  the  stile  helped 
her  over  into  the  fields  beyond.  Others  were  permitted  to 
go  whenever  they  listed,  but  under  one  pretence  or  another, 
she  always  remained  behind.  These  places  —  and  now 
Mrs.  Miller's  cottage  —  were  hallowed  by  remembrances  too 
sacred  to  permit  of  her  going  accompanied  by  others; 
remembrances  of  the  sweetest  associations,  the  happiest, 
the  holiest,  the  saddest  she  had  ever  known,  and  of  the  one 
short  hour,  the  story  of  which  she  had  shared  with  no  other 
heart. 

She  followed  the  path  that  led  close  along  by  the  old  zig- 
zag rail  fence,  and  jumped  across  the  brooklet,  babbling, 
gayly  as  ever,  idly  telling  its  secrets  to  whatever  ear  was 
disposed  to  listen. 

Nettie  seated  herself  upon  its  green  bank,  while  its  garrulous 
little  tongue  rippled  on  in  a  low,  murmuring  tone,  bewailing 
the  untimely  visits  of  King  Frost  away  up  in  the  mountains 
where  it  came  from,  and  how,  like  a  cold-hearted  old  tyrant 
as  he  was,  he  was  usurping  the  reign  of  the  beautiful  Sum- 
mer Queen,  that  gemmed  its  banks  with  green  foliage  and 
bright  flowers ;  how  day  by  day  she  was  laying  aside  her 
gay  robes  for  those  of  sober  maturity,  meekly  resigning  her 
royal  sceptre  to  her  stern  successor.  It  told  Nettie  —  for  she 
sat  listening  a  long  time  to  its  mournful  story  —  how  sorry 
they  would  be  when  the  ruthless  old  monarch  should  take 
up  his  final  abode  with  them,  for  then  it  seemed  to  say,  as  in 
so  many  words,  "  A  seal  will  be  set  upon  my  lips,  he  will 
bind  with  icy  chains  my  musical  tongue,  and  we  shall  be 
strangers  ! " 

Not  more  than  a  hundred  yards  from  where  Nettie  was 
sitting,  by  the  silver  brooklet,  were  the  two  green  mounds 
where  reposed  the  precious  clay  of  her  mother  and  sister. 


25O  SELF-MADE,   OR 

There  was  another  little  spot,  scarcely  less  sacred  than  these 
two,  where  the  rank  grass  was  not  permitted  to  grow,  be- 
cause the  same  loving  hands  kept  the  sod  green  and  fresh. 

She  sat  down  by  her  mother's  grave,  and  thought  of  the 
last  -time  she  saw  her,  and  of  her  dying  commands,  and, 
bowing  her  face  down  on  the  green  earth,  tearfully  renewed 
the  promise  to  be  as  a  mother  to  those  motherless  ones,  and 
resolved  to  bear  her  daily  cross  with  more  cheerfulness. 

She  emptied  her  lap  of  all  the  wild  flowers  she  could  find 
in  her  walk  thither,  and  weaving  them  into  wreaths,  one 
smaller  than  the  other,  as  though  intended  for  the  brows  of 
the  sleepers,  laid  them  on  the  two  graves. 

There  were  some  faded  leaves  twined  among  the  flowers, 
and  the  autumn  winds  had  rifled  some  of  them  of  their  fresh, 
delicate  sweetness,  but  Nettie  thought  them  all  the  more  ap- 
propriate, for  they  told  her  heart  at  least  of  a  home  rifled  of 
its  sweetest  song  bird,  when  Janie  was  gathered  to  the  heav- 
enly home,  and  of  faded  hopes  and  withered  affections  when 
her  mother  died. 

They  were  to  her  emblems  of  time  and  eternity.  The 
fading  flowers,  fleeting  as  the  breath  of  summer,  reminded 
her  of  the  fleeting  years  as  they  sped  away  on  the  wings  of 
time.  The  sweet  and  holy  affection  that  placed  them  there, 
would  grow  stronger  and  purer  as  the  ages  of  eternity  rolled 
away. 

Nettie  pressed  her  lips  to  the  green  sod,  and  hastened  on 
her  way  to  the  cottage  of  Mrs.  Miller.  She  recrossed  the 
beautiful  brooklet  in  order  to  follow  the  path,  and  paused  only 
a  moment  to  wish  that  when  she  too  slept  the  long  sleep,  she 
might  be  laid  where  its  sweet  purling  voice  could  forever 
murmur  a  requiem  over  her  grave. 

She  followed  a  little  by-path,  at  the  extremity  of  which 
was  the  lane  leading  to  the  house ;  looking  meanwhile  this 
way  and  that,  and  listening  for  any  voice  that  might  be 
heard.  All  was  still  and  quiet  on  that  balmy  autumn  after- 


LIVING   FOR  THQSE   WE  LOVE.  251 

noon.  Save  the  splashing  of  the  distant  mill-wheel,  coming 
up  through  the  still,  pure  air,  softened  to  a  low  musical 
sound,  and  the  dripping  of  the  water  from  the  cattle-trough, 
there  was  nothing  to  tell  of  the  busy,  bustling  world  beyond. 

She  entered  the  gate,  and  strolled  through  the  little  gar- 
den, overgrown  with  herbs  and  weeds,  through  which  some 
hardy  flowers  were  struggling  for  existence,  living  and  grow- 
ing, blossoming,  and  bringing  forth  the  full  ripe  seed,  in  spite 
of  all  the  neglect  and  the  coarser  and  harsher  natures  sur- 
rounding them. 

How  lonely  and  desolate  it  looked ! 

Poor  girl !  how  lonely  and  desolate  her  life  had  been  but 
for  those  inherent  graces  of  the  spirit  which  sustained  and 
strengthened  it,  beyond  the  power  of  influences  which  might 
have  discouraged  and  crushed  her ! 

She  laid  her  hand  on  the  head  of  the  old  dog  coming 
slowly  up  to  meet  her,  wagging  his  shaggy  tail,  and  licking 
her  hand  with  a  low,  pitiful  whine.  She  almost  fancied 
Mrs.  Miller's  gentle  footstep  coming  out  and  saying  some 
pleasant  words,  as  in  days  past.  She  looked  around 
towards  the  window,  over  which  the  industrious  spiders 
had  woven  a  gossamer  curtain,  and  fancied  that  she  could 
almost  see  dear  faces  peering  through  the  panes,  the  bright 
glistening  eyes  bidding  her  welcome  as  she  approached. 
And  these  were  like  a  spiritual  presence,  whose  silent  voices, 
echoing  softly  the  thoughts  of  her  own  heart,  seemed  to  stir 
in  it  the  sweet  instead  of  the  bitter  fountains  of  her  being, 
bathing  it  afresh  in  its  strengthening,  healing  waters. 

She  went  back  to  the  house  with  her  heart  filled  with  awe 
and  dread.  It  was  so  silent  and  lonely,  and  when  she  opened 
the  door  noiselessly  and  crept  in,  it  seemed  like  rolling  the 
stone  from  a  sepulchre. 

There  were  a  few  articles  of  the  old  furniture  ranged  with 
a  rigid  formality  against  the  walls.  There  was  the  ample 
fireplace,  whose  genial  warmth  and  brightness  had  made 


253  SELF-MADE,   OR 

her  heart  glow  as  none  other  had.  She  looked  at  the  vacant 
chairs  of  the  twain,  while  her  thoughts  went  back,  "  way 
back,"  to  the  time  when  the  shadow  of  the  death-angel  first 
brooded  over  the  hearth-stone.  But  she  could  not  remember 
when  she  first  thought  of  Mrs.  Miller  and  her  son,  with  that 
tender  solicitude  which  true  affection  inspires.  She  had  al- 
ways loved  them. 

The  tears  could  no  longer  be  restrained.  She  leaned  her 
head  upon  the  low  window-ledge,  and  wept  silently. 

She  might  never  see  them  again  ;  she  hardly  dared  to  hope 
as  much,  yet  something  whispered,  and  its  sweet  voice  long 
afterwards  echoed  back  the  words,  "  There  will  come  a  day 
when  they  will  return  to  the  old  home  ;  perhaps  not  to  live, 
but  still  they  'will  come" 

Silently  the  tear-drops  fall,  silently  and  swiftly  her 
thoughts  fly  backward  and  onward. 

She  thinks  of  the  times  when  Mark  drew  her  on  his  little 
sled  across  the  pond  when  it  was  frozen  over,  or  rowed  her 
in  his  skiff  when  its  surface  was  smooth  and  glassy  as  a 
mirror.  But  then  she  was  a  child,  and  no  doubt  he  had 
forgotten  her,  or  thought  of  her  only  as  a  child. 

"And  what  am  I,"  she  said  with  a  sorrowful  dignity, 
"that  I  should  expect  to  be  remembered?  We  are  no 
longer  children,  but  it  is  sweet  for  me  to  remember  the 
past.  I  wonder  if  he  ever  thinks  of  the  olden  time  —  of  our 
childhood  days ;  the  sleigh-ride,  when  we  both  —  and  we 
only  —  staid  at  home ;  and  the  party  at  Deacon  Sloper's, 
where  we  both  went.  Pshaw  !  he  does  remember ;  he  could 
never  forget  that  if  he  would.  And  yet  he  must  be  so 
changed,  he  doubtless  wishes  to  forget,  and,  by  me  at  least, 
to  be  forgotten." 

Her  heart  glowed  with  the  remembrance  of  a  thousand 
little  acts  of  kindness,  while  those  few  parting  words, 
"  whom,  next  to  my  mother,  I  love  best  on  earth,"  held 
it  in  thrall.  Mingled  with  this,  there  stole  to  her  cheek  a 


LIVING  FOR  THOSE  WE  LOVE.  353 

burning  flush  of  shame,  to  think  she  only  remembered ;  she 
only  through  all  these  years  had  not  forgotten  ! 

Pressing  her  hand  on  her  throbbing  and  aching  heart,  so 
intense  were  her  feelings  that  she  crept  away  as  noiselessly 
as  she  came.  The  poor  girl,  with  her  load  of  grief,  had  not 
the  one  little  happy  hope  of  her  childhood  left. 


254  SELF-MADE,   OR 


CHAPTER    XXVII. 
MARK  MILLER  IS  ELECTED  SENATOR. 

"  Still  on  it  creeps, 

Each  little  moment  at  another's  heels, 
Till  hours,  days,  years,  and  ages  are  made  up 
Of  such  small  parts  as  these,  and  men  look  back, 
Worn  and  bewildered,  wondering  how  it  is." 

JOANNA  BAILLIE. 

T  is  not  necessary  to  relate  how,  step  by  step,  the 
march  of  time  had  made  great  changes  in   the 
persons   and   things   connected   with   our   story. 
We  will  only  allude  to  the  most  prominent  events 
of  these  twelve  long  years. 

The  young  collegian  has  graduated  with  high  honours, 
entered  at  once  upon  the  study  of  the  law,  and  two  years 
later  found  him  a  junior  partner  in  the  office  of  his  pre- 
ceptor. Never  had  a  student  graduated  with  greater  hon- 
ours to  himself  and  the  college.  Never  did  a  young  man 
enter  the  arena  of  professional  or  political  life  under  more 
flattering  auspices.  Success  has  crowned  his  efforts ;  it 
seemed  as  though  a  blessing  attended  everything  he  put  his 
hand  to.  He  is  now  a  noble-looking  young  man,  tall  and 
finely  formed,  with  that  gentle,  yet  brave,  determined  look, 
which  shows  a  spirit  of  self-reliance  that  can  not  easily  yield 
to  trifling  obstacles.  The  pure  principles  that  reigned  in 
the  heart  of  the  boy  guide  the  man,  and  will  guide  him 
through  all  time,  come  weal  or  woe.  His  praises  are  on 
every  tongue.  His  splendid  talents,  fearless  resolution,  and 


LIVING   FOR   THOSE   WE  LOVE. 


255 


fine  personal  endowments,  are  the  all-absorbing  topics  of 
the  day.  He  is  advancing  steadily  in  the  road  to  prosperity 
and  preferment.  He  is  happy  because  he  is  good,  prosper- 
ous because  he  is  provident. 

Miss  Pearson  has  become  a  sober,  staid  matron  of  thirty- 
two  ;  but  time  has  dealt  gently  with  her  good  looks.  She 
often  says,  "  The  freshness  and  fulness  of  my  husband's  love 
keep  my  heart  green."  Of  her  little  son,  Mark,  she  is  very 
proud.  He  is  a  beautiful  child ;  but  she  hopes  the  beauty 
of  his  character  may  fully  equal  that  of  the  noble  man  after 
whom  he  was  named.  From  the  exalted  position  where 
Mark  and  Nettie  first  placed  her,  Grace  never  fell.  She  was 
to  them  a  true  friend  :  her  sweet  influence  and  almost  sisterly 
regard  inspired  them  with  greater  confidence  in  their  own 
powers,  enabling  them  to  place  a  juster  estimate  upon  their 
own  abilities.  Though  a  hundred  miles  away  from  the  place 
where  once,  as  if  by  accident,  her  feet  had  strayed,  and  years 
had  elapsed,  her  influence  remained  still.  Her  little  benefits 
and  her  letters  came  regularly.  But  after  Mark  went  away 
to  college,  she  never  wrote  concerning  him. 

About  that  time  two  neat  cards  were  sent,  tied  around 
with  white  ribbon,  announcing  her  marriage.  But  her  love, 
though  shared  with  another,  ever  remained  the  same  for  her 
young  friends. 

Under  her  silent  and  unobtrusive  tuition,  and  not  alto- 
gether unknown  to  himself,  Mark  felt  his  nature  expanding 
into  broader  sympathies  with  mankind.  His  own  experi- 
ence enlarged,  and  he  advanced  to  a  point  where  a  doubt  of 
his  success  did  not  venture  to  intrude. 

The  old  "  homestead  on  the  hill "  is  now  a  most  beautiful 
place.  The  house  is  no  longer  brown  and  bare  ;  indeed,  it  is 
almost  a  new  house,  very  little  of  the  original  structure 
remaining.  Additions  have  been  made,  giving  to  it  a  more 
graceful  style  of  architecture.  Tall  pillars  support  the  long 
galleries,  and  handsome  dormer  windows  in  the  great  steep 


256  SELF-MADE,   OR 

roof,  and  many  other  conveniences,  ornamental  and  sub- 
stantial, have  made  it  altogether  such  a  home  as  people  of 
taste  and  refinement  would  choose  for  a  country  residence. 
It  is  newly  painted,  inside  and  out,  and  finished  and  furnished 
becomingly.  Good  fences,  good  barns,  and  other  improve- 
ments, have  added  largely  to  the  comfort  and  respectability 
of  its  inmates.  Large  trees,  shrubs,  flowers,  and  creeping 
vines  are  all  around,  almost  hiding  it  from  sight. 

One  had  gone  forth,  a  young  and  beautiful  bride,  to  glad- 
den the  heart  and  home  of  him  who  sought  and  won  her 
love.  Their  home  was  in  the  far  west,  but  Nettie  was  rec- 
onciled to  part  with  her  young  sister ;  for  she  had  chosen, 
wisely,  a  man  every-way  worthy  of  her.  As  Nettie  gave 
her  into  the  hands  of  her  husband,  arrayed  in  a  dress  of  soft, 
white,  fleecy  muslin,  with  a  wreath  of  pure  bridal  roses  — 
"  sparkling  in  their  own  dew"  —  encircling  her  fair  girlish 
brow,  she  said,  tearfully,  "  Take  her,  my  brother,  as  a  gift 
from  the  Lord ;  though  it  cost  me  a  pang,  I  resign  her  to 
your  keeping,  cheerfully,  willingly.  Our  homes  will  be  far 
apart,  and  she  will  often  wish  to  see  the  old  place  and  the 
roof  that  sheltered  her  young  head,  and  sigh  for  her  girlish 
days  spent  here.  I  have  tried  to  make  them  happy,  tried  to 
do  my  duty  well,  and  if  she  be  not  all  your  fond  fancy  paints 
her,  remember  that  her  instructress  was  but  little  older  than 
herself — that  we  were  all  alike  motherless."  A  neater, 
prettier  little  bride  was  never  seen  ;  a  better,  truer  wife  was 
never  won  — just  such  a  one  as  the  young  and  enterprising 
pioneer  needed  in  his  new  home  on  the  banks  of  the  Ohio. 

Nettie's  face  is  not  so  young  and  fair  as  it  was  twelve 
years  ago,  but  the  look  of  womanhood  is  far  less  grave  than 
that  of  girlhood.  A  sweeter  expression  is  on  it,  mellowed 
and  ripened  by  the  memories  of  these  years.  It  wears  so 
bright  a  smile,  one  would  never  mistrust  the  care  and  anxi- 
ety at  work  in  her  heart. 

Years  passed ;   Mark  never  came ;   but  at  long  intervals 


LIVING  FOR  THOSE   WE   LOVE.  257 

there  went  out  some  little  ripple  from  the  great  wave  of  life 
that  reached  the  sluggish  little  town  where  her  home  was. 
They  heard  that  he  had  graduated  with  high  honours,  that 
he  had  been  admitted  to  the  bar,  that  he  was  fast  rising,  and, 
as  more  years  went  by,  that  he  had  risen  to  honour  and  dis- 
tinction. It  was  seldom  that  Nettie  heard  his  name  men- 
tioned, yet  always  with  a  sweeter,  sadder  feeling  than  when 
other  names  were  spoken  ;  and  every  time  she  heard  it,  he 
seemed  farther  removed  from  her.  At  length  she  schooled 
her  heart  to  think  it  impossible  they  should  ever  meet  in  the 
same  old  way,  and  tried  to  reason  herself  into  the  belief  that 
he  had  forgotten  her.  She  thinks  of  the  long  years  she  has 
watched  and  prayed,  waited  and  hoped.  In  a  moment  her 
heart  travels  over  again  the  weary  pathway  her  feet  have 
come.  It  seems  impossible  that  she  could  ever  be  so  strong 
again  ;  and  now  she  was  to  learn  submission  to  a  new  sor- 
row. Rumour,  with  her  viper  tongue,  whispers  that  the 
young  and  rising  star  on  the  political  horizon  is  to  lead 
to  the  altar  a  young  and  beautiful  bride,  daughter  of  the 
wealthy  and  honourable  Mr.  Newell,  of  New  York. 

"What  if  it  be  so?"  she  would  say  to  herself.  "What 
is  it  to  me,  a  poor,  hard-working  country  girl?  If  the 
report  were  not  true,  he  would  never  think  of  me;  so  I 
wish  them  joy  —  O,  so  much  joy!  She  is  lovely,  and  an 
heiress.  He  is  noble,  and  will  win  fame.  They  will  be 
happy.  I  will  at  least  be  content." 

The  sweet  little  love-dream  of  her  childhood  had  departed 
with  that  bright  one  dreamed  at  the  stile  long  ago,  the  beauty 
of  which  had  made  her  heart  strong  under  many  and  sore 
trials.  She  shrank  from  coming  in  contact  with  those  who 
would  converse  on  the  subject,  thankful  that  this  one  secret 
was  forever  locked  in  her  own  breast.  The  world  knew 
it  not. 

How  God  was  trying  her !  And  yet  He  has  said,  "  As 
thy  day  so  shall  thy  strength  be."  "  O,"  said  she,  "  that  I 
'7 


258  SELF-MADE,    OR 

could  accept  these  promises  without  murmuring,  and  wear 
them  as  a  shield  over  my  heart !  " 

Other  rumours  ran  rife,  one  of  which  proved  to  be  not  as 
unfounded  as  the  other.  It  was  to  the  effect  that  Mark  was 
soon  to  have  a  great  honour  conferred  upon  him,  one  of  the 
highest  within  the  gift  of  the  people.  He  was  soon  to  take 
his  seat  in  the  United  States  Senate.  That  there  could  be 
no  mistake  in  this  was  quite  evident,  from  the  fact  that  the 
public  journals  throughout  the  state  were  heralding  it  as  a 
question  already  settled  by  the  people.  These  reports  were 
not  long  in  finding  their  way  into  the  little  town,  now 
grown  quite  proud  in  that  it  could  claim  the  honour  of 
being  the  birthplace  and  early  home  of  this  favourite  son 
of  the  Empire  State.  One  day  Nettie's  eye  chanced  to  fall 
upon  the  following  paragraph  in  one  of  the  leading  daily 
papers :  — 

"  The  legislature  of  New  York  will  elect,  at  its  next  ses- 
sion, a  successor  to  Judge  Williams  for  the  unexpired  term, 
and  also  for  the  succeeding  regular  term.  Public  sentiment 

points  to  a  most  worthy  and  gifted  son  of County ;  the 

selection  of  whom  would  benefit  the  country  and  meet  uni- 
versal approval.  Mark  Miller,  Esq.,  is  the  person  thus 
designated." 

* 

This  news  created  no  little  sensation.  The  satisfaction 
was  almost  universal.  Only  a  few  partisans  grumbled  over 
this  piece  of  intelligence. 

There  was  one,  an  old  and  tried  friend,  to  whom  this  last 
and  crowning  success  was  a  joyful  event.  He  had  prophe- 
sied as  much  long  ago.  It  fulfilled  his  early  auguries. 

Mark  had  written  at  long  intervals.  But  latterly,  through 
a  press  of  business,  his  letters  were  hurried,  and  fewer  than 
before. 

There  was  one,  lying  upon  the  writing-desk  of  Deacon 


LIVING   FOR   THOSE   WE    LOVE.  259 

Sloper,  just  received,  over  which  the  old  couple  were  shed- 
ding tears  of  joy. 

Could  it  be  possible  ?  Yes,  it  was  really  true  that  Mark 
and  his  mother  were  coming  home !  That  long-promised 
visit  to  the  home  of  his  youth  would  be  made  ere  he  took  up 
his  residence  in  the  nation's  capital  —  this  very  spring,  this 
month  ;  but  another  letter  would  determine  the  day  when  he 
might  be  expected.  The  letter  came  only  on  the  eve  of  his 
own  arrival,  but  his  approach  was  heralded  by  the  public 
prints.  The  name  and  fame  of  the  young  senator  were  now 
public  property. 


26b  SELF-MADE,   OR 


CHAPTER    XXVIII. 
HIS  TRIUMPHAL  RETURN  TO  HIS  NATIVE  VILLAGE. 

"We  leave 

Our  home  in  youth,  —  no  matter  to  what  end,  — 
Study,  or  strife,  or  pleasure,  or  what  not ; 
And,  coming  back  in  few  short  years,  we  find 
All  as  we  left  it  outside;  the  old  elms, 
The  house,  the  grass,  gates,  and  latchet's  self-same  click ; 
But  lift  that  latchet,  —  all  is  changed  as  doom." 

BAILEY'S  FESTUS. 

]HAT  was  a  glorious  day  at  Sorrel  Hill !  "  contin- 
ued aunt  Bessie,  tearfully,  and  with  more  emotion 
than  she  could  well  suppress.  "  Will  the  few  of 
us  who  remain  —  like  sere  and  yellow  leaves  upon 
an  aged  tree  —  ever  forget  that  day  ?  It  was  like  the  dawn- 
ing of  a  new  advent  to  some  of  us,  —  the  brightness  and 
beauty  of  a  new  creation  !  " 

The  sky  was  without  a  cloud,  calm  and  serene,  with  a 
soft  breeze  rippling  through  the  old  elms  that  skirted  the 
road-side,  and  scattering  the  apple-blossoms  broadcast  over 
the  greensward. 

Well-tilled  fields,  thrifty  orchards  in  full  bloom,  with  neat 
farm-houses  nestling  cosily  amidst  the  flossy  spring  verdure, 
and  cattle  grazing  on  the  hill-sides  or  in  the  sweet,  cool 
valley  pastures,  are  subjects  of  remark  and  observation. 
The  traveller's  eye  noted  all  these  objects,  as  one  after 
another  rose  to  view,  and  were  passed  in  quick  succession. 
They  are  nearing  the  cross-roads,  where  Mark  always  felt 


LIVING   FOR   THOSE   WE    LOVE.  26 1 

at  home  after  the  line  was  passed.  Two  miles  farther,  and 
the  hill-top  will  be  gained,  where  he  can  look  down  on  the 
dear  valley  home  slumbering  quietly  in  its  rural  beauty. 

But  what  is  this?  What  startling  event  is  to  break  in  upon 
his  silent  joy  ?  A  great  concourse  of  people  are  assembled 
at  the  "  Corners ;  "  the  streets  are  thronged  with  carriages, 
while  over  the  road  leading  to  the  village  are  beautiful  arches 
of  evergreens  and  flowers,  streaming  banners,  and  bands  of 
music  enlivening  the  scene.  Some  great  gala  day,  no  doubt, 
though  that  were  a  strange  sight  indeed,  and  something  alto- 
gether new,  for  the  staid,  sober  citizens  of  a  quiet  little  town 
like  this !  The  booming  of  a  cannon,  and  the  wild  enthu- 
siastic huzza  that  followed,  startled  the  horses  into  a  quick 
gallop.  They  seemed  to  have  caught  the  inspiration  that 
was  swaying  the  hearts  of  the  people. 

As  the  plain,  unostentatious  travelling  equipage  neared 
the  scene  of  festivity,  twelve  horsemen  advanced,  with  caps 
raised,  and  circling  around  the  travellers,  drew  up  in  true 
military  style,  six  on  either  side. 

Two  grooms  advance  to  hold  the  restive  horses,  the 
throng  close  around  the  carriage,  loud  and  prolonged  shouts 
rise  high  on  the  air — a  welcome  cheering  to  one  who  has 
long  been  an  exile  from  home. 

"  Welcome  !     Welcome  home  !  " 

"  Welcome  to  our  hearts  and  homes !  " 

Long  and  loud  huzzas  follow  in  quick  succession.  The 
cannon  pours  forth  its  wild  peal,  which  is  answered  by 
another  far  down  the  valley,  while  the  echoing  hills  send 
back  a  multiplied  acclaim.  An  open  carriage,  drawn  by 
four  horses,  and  garlanded  with  flowers,  is  waiting  to  re- 
ceive the  honoured  guest. 

His  mother  felt  at  that  hour  that  she  must  surrender  her 
son  to  a  nation's  care  and  protection.  Her  heart  is  over- 
flowing with  silent,  almost  speechless  joy ;  but  she  gives 
him  up  willingly,  well  knowing  that  henceforth  he  will  seek 


262  SELF-MADE,    OR 

counsel  and  advice  from  others  —  hers  he  will  need  no 
more.  The  old  residents  who  remembered  Mark  were  the 
most  enthusiastic.  He  looks  into  their  good,  honest  faces, 
and  recognizes  them  all,  though  time  has  bent  the  forms  and 
silvered  the  locks  of  many. 

The  majority  of  this  vast  multitude  are  fine-looking  young 
men,  who  are  to  him  as  strangers,  and  some  are  strangers 
indeed ;  but  all  are  interested  in  showing  their  guest  that 
respect  and  honour  which  is  his  just  reward. 

The  clear,  unclouded  sky  of  that  glorious  June  day  was 
spread  like  a  beautiful  canopy  of  blue  over  the  little  village 
that  lay  enshrouded  in  a  soft,  hazy  atmosphere  ;  the  hill-tops 
and  tree-tops  glowed  like  "  golden  arrows  tipped  with  dia- 
monds ;  "  the  sun's  glad  beams  rested  like  a  blessing  on  the 
noble  brow,  as  he  bared  it  to  the  multitude  to  thank  them 
for  this  display  of  their  regard. 

A  Sabbath-like  stillness  now  prevailed,  save  the  booming 
of  the  cannon,  proclaiming  from  its  bellowing  throat  that 
something  unusual  was  about  to  happen.  The  old  mill- 
wheel  had  ceased  its  industrious  round,  the  hammer  of  the 
smith  was  silent,  shops  were  closed  or  being  bedecked  in  the 
national  colours,  interspersed  with  sprigs  of  evergreen  and 
wreaths  of  flowers.  A  great  flag  floated  from  the  tall  liberty- 
pole  on  the  Common,  while,  at  intervals  of  a  few  rods,  the 
road  through  the  village  was  spanned  by  arches  of  evergreen 
and  flowers,  —  twelve  in  number,  —  one  for  every  year  that 
he  had  been  away  ;  his  initials,  or  some  loving  words  of 
welcome,  being  interwoven  in  green  and  scarlet,  or  blue  and 
gold.  Doors  and  windows  were  gayly  decked  with  flowers. 
On  the  silvery  bosom  of  the  great  mill-pond  rocked  numer- 
ous little  pleasure-craft,  gorgeously  trimmed  with  fluttering 
ensigns,  or  some  token  of  regard  for  their  honoured  guest. 
On  the  green  and  glossy  Common,  overshadowed  by  native 
trees  of  elm  and  maple,  were  spread  long  tables  of  delicate 
viands.  Such  baking  and  brewing,  slaughtering,  roasting, 


LIVING   FOR   THOSE   WE   LOVE.  263 

and  ornamenting,  were  never  before  seen  or  heard  of  by  the 
good  citizens  of  Sorrel  Hill. 

At  last  the  cavalcade  arrives.  The  booming  cannon 
thunders,  Welcome!  the  responsive  hills  echo  back,  Wel- 
come !  The  people  hurrah  ;  the  boys  throw  their  caps  high 
in  air;  the  ladies  wave  their  handkerchiefs,  and  throw 
bouquets  from  the  windows ;  while  every  one  in  the  street 
nearly  stumbles  over  the  other,  in  his  eagerness  to  congratu- 
late and  welcome  the  old  friend  who  had  so  nobly  earned 
honour  for  himself  and  his  birthplace.  The  multitude,  that 
opened  a  path  before  him,  closed  in  behind  him  as  he  passed 
on.  Few  could  get  near  enough  to  speak  to  him,  or  take 
him  by  the  hand.  The  prolonged  huzzas,  the  echoing  shouts, 
proclaimed  the  warmth  of  the  respect,  the  genuineness  of  the 
enthusiasm.  No  victorious  hero  of  modern  times  has  been 
more  gracefully,  more  enthusiastically,  received  ! 

What  think  you  were  the  emotions  of  that  brave  heart  at 
that  hour?  Was  it  pride  and  arrogance?  Was  it  a  spirit 
of  triumph  over  those  who  had  spurned  him  in  his  early 
youth  ?  No ;  it  was  one  of  profound  and  tearful  humility, 
of  unspeakable  gratitude  to  God,  of  warm  and  fervent  grati- 
tude to  these  friends,  of  an  attachment  which  would  grow 
stronger  than,  and  lasting  as,  life. 

Never  in  his  whole  after  life  —  when  he  had  reached  the 
zenith  of  his  fame,  when  his  name  had  become  associated 
with,  and  as  a  thing  inseparable  from,  the  nation's  greatness 
and  the  nation's  glory  —  did  he  experience  aught  that  sur- 
passed the  pure  joys  of  that  day  ! 

All  was  gayety  and  festivity ;  the  people  could  scarcely 
restrain  their  wild  joy  ;  and  Mark  was  equally  excited.  I  If 
ascended  the  platform,  from  which  they  hoped  he  would 
address  them.  His  eye  roved  around  the  assembled  multi- 
tude, his  lips  essayed  to  move ;  but  his  heart  was  too  full  for 
utterance.  At  length,  with  quivering  lips,  amidst  the  almost 
breathless  silence  that  followed,  he  said,  — 


264  SELF-MADE,    OR 

"  My  heart  is  too  full  to  make  a  long  speech  to-day. 
Accept  my  gratitude  for  this  display  of  generous  friendship. 
It  is  more  than  words  can  express,  and  will  last  while  life 
lasts.  At  some  future  time,  during  my  stay  among  you,  I 
shall  be  most  happy  to  address  you  upon  those  great  topics 
of  the  day  which  relate  to  the  present  and  the  future  of  our 
national  policy.  But,  let  me  assure  you,  I  am  on  no  elec- 
tioneering tour.  My  visit  to  my  dear  old  home  is  purely  one 
of  affection.  I  love  everything  that  exists  here,  and  every- 
body that  ever  breathed  this  pure  air,  and  who  is  so  happy 
as  to  have  been  born  here.  Although  I  may  not  spend  the 
sunset  of  my  life  where  its  dawn  began,  I  shall  feel  that  I 
must  sometimes  come  back  to  look  upon  my  native  hills,  the 
scenes  of  my  early  struggles,  my  old  home  by  the  brook- 
side,  and  my  father's  grave. 

"  The  vicissitudes  of  the  past  —  the  thoughts,  feelings,  and 
experience  of  twelve  years  —  are  crowding  in  upon  my  mem- 
ory at  this  hour.  It  seems  like  a  long  dream,  from  which  I 
have  just  awaked.  Troubled  as  that  dream  may  have  been, 
the  awakening  is  blissful.  Be  my  future  what  it  may, — 
whether  it  be  overcast  by  clouds  of  adversity  and  sorrow,  or 
made  pleasant  by  the  smiles  of  fortune  and  the  sweets  of 
friendship,  —  I  know  no  greater  happiness  than  that  which 
fills  my  heart  this  day  will  ever,  can  ever,  be  mine.  Never 
again  shall  I  experience  an  hour  like  this  ;  never  again  could 
my  heart  beat  with  the  same  wild  throb  of  joy,  though  a  na- 
tion's praises  and  a  nation's  honours  were  showered  upon  me. 
Though  the  proudest  triumphs  were  achieved,  the  greenest 
laurels  that  ambition  craves  were  won  and  worn,  never  could 
they  bring  to  me  the  pure  joys,  the  tender  emotions,  the  tear- 
ful tributes  of  gratitude  which  I  now  feel.  The  memory  of 
this  hour  will  be  like  an  hour  passed  in  some  little  gi-een  Eden, 
where  all  before  was  doubt  and  darkness,  and  will  serve  to 
stimulate  me  to  greater  efforts  and  renewed  exertions.  This 
hour  has  called  into  being  new  thoughts,  feelings,  and  aspira- 


LIVING  FOR   THOSE   WE  LOVE.  365 

tions,  which  MUST  impel  me  onward  in  the  path  of  duty ; 
and  if  that  path  be  upward,  —  if  it  lead  eventually  to  any 
great  eminence,  —  if  my  name,  and  the  one  little  talent  which 
I  may  possess,  be  not  lost  in  obscurity  among  the  great  and 
gifted  ones  with  whom  I  am  to  come  in  contact,  I  shall  feel 
that  I  owe  it  to  your  kindness  and  your  encouragement,  more 
than  to  the  circumstances  which  have  governed  me. 

"  My  spirit  faints  sometimes  when  I  think  what  is  before 
me,  and  what  great  things  are  expected  of  me.  I  have  often 
thought  that  my  one  little  talent  would  make  a  poor  show  at 
Washington ;  but  this  display  of  your  friendship  sinks  into 
my  heart  like  the  first  spring  rain,  warming  into,  life  new 
hopes  and  high  aspirations.  Until  this  day  I  had  never 
thought  to  win  fame.  Fame  alone  can  never  satisfy  my 
ambition.  But,  for  the  sake  of  these  my  too  partial  friends, 
and  this  my  beloved  birthplace,  I  would  not  have  my  name 
lost  to  the  world.  Not  for  myself  alone,  not  for  my  own 
individual  honour,  not  for  any  personal  glory  that  I  may 
achieve,  would  I  make  my  influence  known  and  felt ;  but 
that  I  may  reflect  honour  upon  those  who  have  thus  inspired 
me  with  a  hope  of  success. 

"  If  my  eyes  are  true  interpreters  of  oracles,  I  read  in  your 
faces  an  assurance  of  continued  sympathy  and  faithful  friend- 
ship. It  shall  be  to  me  like  the  embrace  of  loving  arms,  to 
cheer  and  strengthen  me.  I  shall  prize  not  life  so  much  as 
I  shall  the  commendations,  the  approval,  of  my  old  friends. 

'  Old  friends,  like  old  swords,  still  are  trusted  best.' 

"  Accept  again  my  thanks  for  your  thoughtful,  generous 
kindness.  I  feel  my  heart  energized,  my  soul  braced  to  en- 
counter whatever  lies  before  me.  I  covet  no  higher  honour, 
no  prouder  fame,  no  greater  reward,  than  to  be  able  so  to  live, 
that  when  I  die,  you  may  say  of  me, '  Faithful  and  beloved.' " 


266  SELF-MADE,   OR 


CHAPTER    XXIX. 

OLD  ACQUAINTANCE  NOT  FORGOTTEN. 

"  All  true  love  is  grounded  on  esteem ; 
Plainness  and  truth  gain  more  a  generous  heart 
Than  all  the  crooked  subtleties  of  art." 

BUCKINGHAM. 

HE  fetes  and  feastings  lasted  a  week.  Day  and 
night  were  the  young  senator's  rooms,  in  the  old 
mansion  of  Mr.  Sloper,  thronged  with  the  good 
people  of  Sorrel  Hill.  The  entire  population 
seemed  beside  themselves  with  gayety,  and  to  have  given 
up  all  thoughts  of  business  for  pleasure.  Days  and  weeks 
glided  by.  Still  Mark  remained  the  guest  of  the  people. 
As  often  as  he  spoke  of  returning,  so  often  would  they  in- 
terpose their  objections ;  and  somehow  his  own  inclinations 
were  in  favour  of  his  remaining  longer. 

Every  spot  sacred  to  memory  was  visited  and  revisited. 
The  old  cottage  home  had  been  wonderfully  preserved,  and 
was  often  the  scene  of  little  merry-makings,  where  the 
younger  portion  of  the  community  came  to  frolic  on  the 
greensward,  or  to  spread  their  luncheon  under  the  great 
maples  by  the  gate.  Mark  could  recognize  every  tree,  and 
it  seemed  almost  as  though  the  recognition  must  be  mutual. 
The  bleating  of  the  sheep,  the  lowing  of  the  kine,  the  tic-tac 
of  the  wheel  at  the  mill,  the  old  familiar  hum  of  the  dam,  were 
as  though  he  had  never  been  away.  Time  passed  swiftly  and 
pleasantly.  Each  day  seemed  happier  than  the  preceding. 


LIVING  FOR   THOSE  WE   LOVE.  267 

It  was  a  happy  reunion,  but  there  were  none  who  shed 
more  tears  of  joy 'than  Nettie.  While  others  were  loud  in 
their  adulations  and  profuse  in  their  attentions,  her  tears 
flowed  silently,  for  she  felt  that  thenceforth  there  was  to  be 
forever  a  barrier  between  herself  and  the  noble,  gifted  friend 
of  her  early  years.  The  one  little  sunbeam  in  her  darkened 
existence  had  been  the  thought  that  he  would  never  cease  to 
esteem  her,  but  would  sometimes  think  of  her  in  her  lonely 
home,  and  respect  her  for  the  good  she  had  wrought 
there. 

Nettie  had  made  herself  very  efficient  while  the  prepara- 
tions for  the  reception  were  going  forward.  Her  confections 
graced  the  tables,  her  wreaths  of  evergreen  were  the  most 
beautiful,  her  flowers  were  indispensable,  her  frosted  cakes, 
wreathed  with  fresh  rose-buds,  were  pronounced  exquisite. 

Never  before  had  the  good  ladies  paid  so  much  deference 
to  her  opinion  ;  never  before  had  her  taste  and  skill  been  so 
extolled.  Nothing  was  done,  or  could  be  done,  seemingly, 
until  her  judgment  had  passed  upon  it.  At  her  suggestion 
the  arbour  was  festooned  with  flowers.  Under  her  super- 
vision the  tables  looked  more  like  a  fairy's  banquet  than  a 
place  in  which  to  feast  a  hundred  hungry  men. 

During  the  speaking,  Nettie  stood  where  she  could  both 
see  and  hear.  Her  heart  gave  one  great  throb  when  she 
first  beheld  him  whom  this  display  was  designed  to  honour. 
And  when  in  low,  tremulous  tones  he  thanked  them  for  all 
their  kindness,  his  voice  had  a  strange  sound.  Though  rich 
and  manly,  and  full  of  pathos  and  affection,  it  was  not  the 
old  voice  that  said  "  Good  by,"  at  the  stile.  Her  first  thought 
was,  "  He  will  never  think  of  me  as  the  friend  of  old ;  he 
cannot"  There  was  such  an  air  of  lofty,  yet  gentle  courtesy, 
such  intellectual  power  beaming  from  his  face,  his  words, 
the  tones  of  his  voice,  as  to  her  sensitive  car  expressed  a 
consciousness  of  the  wide  difference  in  their  social  position. 
And  so  she  went  back  to  her  home  unnoticed  and  unseen  by 


268  SELF-MADE,   OR 

him,  and  the  little  gleam  of  sunshine  which  for  a  few  days 
had  brightened  Up  the  old  homestead,  and  one  heart  within 
it,  was  shrouded  in  a  deeper  gloom  than  before. 

Mark's  coming,  which  had  been  the  dream  of  her  life, 
was  likely  to  end  in  a  painful  reality.  She  remained  in  her 
own  room  silent  and  thoughtful,  as  by  the  light  of  the  shaded 
lamp  she  rocked  to  and  fro.  But  her  heart  beat  on  and 
hoped  on  in  spite  of  that  ever  present  conviction,  that  it 
was  in  vain. 

The  meeting  between  Mrs.  Miller  and  Nettie  was  more 
like  that  of  mother  and  daughter.  They  conversed  in  per- 
fect simplicity  and  frankness.  But  the  son  was  not  present, 
and  there  were  few  interruptions  to  their  long,  pleasant  in- 
terview. Mrs.  Miller's  face  beamed  with  pride  and  pleasure 
to  see  her  "  dear  child,"  as  she  persisted  in  calling  her,  grown 
so  tall  and  so  handsome  ;  and  Nettie  forgot  the  restraint 
with  which  she  at  first  met  her  old  friend,  and  went  away 
happier  than  she  came.  The  mother,  at  least,  was  un- 
changed. 

Nearly  a  week  passed  before  Mark  could  find  time  to  call 
upon  his  friends.  So  entirely  was  every  hour  occupied,  he 
could  do  little  else  than  remain  at  home  to  entertain  those 
who  called,  or  to  pay  visits  in  cases  where  he  received  spe- 
cial invitations. 

It  was  thought  by  some,  that  Miss  Helen  Maynard  would 
ere  long  have  the  young  senator  entirely  to  herself.  That 
she  was  lionizing  him,  and  endeavouring  to  monopolize  him 
thoroughly,  there  could  be  but  little  doubt.  There  were 
grand  evening  entertainments,  and  little  recherche  dinners, 
and  once  they  took  a  long  ride  together  on  horseback. 
What  more  than  this  was  wanting  to  confirm  the  most 
doubting  mind? 

At  length,  one  calm,  hazy  afternoon,  when  an  Eden-like 
stillness  and  beauty  seemed  to  rest  upon  the  whole  world, 
Mark  stole  away,  unobserved  by  any,  and  wended  his  way 


LIVING  FOR  THOSE   WE   LOVE.  269 

to  the  summit  of  the  «  Hill,"  where  the  old  house  of  Mr. 
Strange  used  to  stand. 

Instead  of  going  "  cross-lots,"  and  leaping  over  the  old  rail 
fence,  and  coming  in  at  the  side  door,  as  he  used  to  do,  he 
took  the  highway,  and  went  in  at  the  arched  gate,  and  up 
the  broad  gravel  walk  leading  to  the  house.  He  gazed  in 
silence,  with  a  feeling  of  awe  and  admiration,  at  the  beauti- 
ful picture  spread  out  before  him.  It  seemed  to  him  as 
though  an  enchanter's  wand  had  been  waved  over  the  place, 
so  delightfully  like,  and  yet  unlike,  was  it  to  its  old  self. 

Beyond  were  climbing  vines  and  tall  flowering  shrubs; 
the  arched  doorway,  the  great  pillars  supporting  the  gal- 
leries, were  almost  hidden  from  view  by  the  fairy  touch  of 
the  floral  angel. 

Mark  scarcely  recognized  the  tall,  commanding  woman  of 
twenty-five,  standing  under  the  low  arch  of  jessamine ;  but 
a  nearer  approach  confirmed  his  suspicions  that  it  might  be 
she  whom  he  came  especially  to  see. 

He  left  her  a  little  maiden,  in  short  frocks  and  pinafores, 
with  light  golden  hair  hanging  loosely  about  her  shoulders, 
"  waving  in  the  wild  freedom  of  childhood,"  but  now  gath- 
ered into  large  bands,  and  darker  by  several  shades,  rippling 
softly  over  her  broad  white  forehead,  showing  the  graceful 
contour  of  her  head.  Never  had  Mark  thought  of  Nettie  as 
being  beautiful.  It  had  never  once  entered  his  mind  that 
she  would  ever  be  one  who  could  command  admiration  ;  but 
as  she  stood  before  him  then,  in  the  midst  of  all  this  beauty 
which  she  had  made,  she  appeared  a  being  of  queenly  aspect, 
born  to  command  the  respect,  the  admiration,  of  the  world. 

Both  were  speechless,  with  hands  clasped,  each  gazing 
fondly,  earnestly,  into  the  eyes  of  the  other,  until  the  long 
wistful  look  deepened  into  one  of  unspeakable  tenderness. 
Her  cheek  grew  warm  under  that  long,  admiring  gaze, —  for 
so  she  must  have  interpreted  it,  —  and  Mark  seemed  to  have 
forgotten  to  speak  the  words  of  joy  trembling  on  his  lips. 


SELF-MADE,    OR 

"  Mr.  Miller,  welcome  back  to  your  native  town !  I  wish 
you  joy  —  much  joy  !  " 

"  As  you  are  formal  with  me,  and  so  changed,  I  suppose 
I  must  be  ceremonious  too,  and  call  you  Miss  Strange." 

"  Strange  indeed  it  would  seem  to  be  thus  addressed  by 
you  !  No  ;  call  me  Nettie,  as  of  old.  Though  I  should  live 
to  be  a  gray-haired  old  woman,  I  would  always  be  Nettie  to 
you." 

"  Let  us  then  ever  be  Mark  and  Nettie  to  each  other." 

"  Am  I  so  very  much  changed,  Mark?  " 

"  Changed?  Yes;  O,  so  much!  You  are  the  same  gen- 
tle, spiritual  Nettie  of  old,  only  more  graceful,  more  woman- 
ly, just  as  I  would  have  you  in  every  way  —  changed  in  form 
and  features,  yet  the  same  loving,  confiding  soul  is  yours." 

They  entered  the  house  together.  Here  Nettie  threw  off 
the  embarrassment  that  at  first  oppressed  her,  and  both  en- 
gaged in  a  long,  pleasant,  unreserved  conversation. 

Here  again  he  found  cause  for  much  surprise.  A  magi- 
cian's wand,  or  the  lamp  of  Aladdin,  could  scarcely  effect  a 
greater  change.  The  walls — no  longer  brown  and  bare  — 
are  covered  with  fresh,  delicate  paper ;  the  roses  running 
over  the  pale  ground,  vying,  in  beauty  and  harmony  of 
colour,  with  those  overshadowing  the  porch  outside.  The 
old  rough  floors  —  as  Mark  remembered  them  —  are  hidden 
under  neat  carpets.  At  the  windows  are  soft  white  curtains, 
looped  back  to  admit  the  cool  evening  breeze,  which  swept 
over  a  garden  of  sweets,  reviving  even  to  those  accustomed 
to  it.  Lounges,  easy-chairs,  and  little  tete-a-tetes,  covered 
with  neat  chintz,  are  here  and  there  ;  and  over  all  is  spread 
an  air  of  domestic  purity  and  home  comfort  such  as  Mark 
had  often  said  should  one  day  be  his. 

The  evening  was  spent  in  showing  Mark  over  the  place. 
Wonderful  were  the  improvements.  Charming  was  the 
prospect.  Instead  of  the  old  uncouth  fences  and  fields  of 
stubble  were  smiling  hedgerows  and  lawns  of  green,  with 


LIVING   FOR  THOSE   WE   LOVE.  271 

graceful  trees  casting  their  cool  shadows  upon  the  well-tilled 
fields.  The  visitor's  admiration  was  unbounded,  as  well  it 
might  be.  He  could  scarcely  find  words  to  express  the 
pleasure  which  this  visit  afforded  him,  and  awarded  to 
Nettie  her  just  meed  of  praise.  He  felt  that  nothing  short 
of  the  consecration  of  her  whole  being  to  the  task  could 
have  accomplished  so  noble  a  work. 

He  thought  of  her  with  more  than  the  old  usual  tender- 
ness, as  he  walked  slowly  homeward  that  calm,  starlit  night. 
He  thought  of  the  hard  crosses  of  her  girlhood,  and  noble 
self-denial  of  the  woman  ;  thought  of  the  love,  the  almost 
idolatrous  worship,  she  bore  his  mother ;  thought,  too,  — 
ay,  he  must  have  known  it,  —  of  the  love  she  bore  him- 
self. He  felt  it  deeply ;  but  this  seemed  to  be  one  of  those 
hinclerances  to  his  preferment  of  which  fortune  bade  him 
beware. 

He  often  sighed  for  the  companionship  of  some  loving, 
womanly  being  to  share  the  fame  he  had  won.  His  fancy 
would  often  picture  a  fair  home,  with  a  highly  intellectual, 
cultivated,  refined  woman  there  as  its  mistress  and  presiding 
genius  ;  and  —  as  he  often  whispered  to  himself —  "  one 
just  like  Grace"  Then  he  would  think  of  fair-haired 
Effie  Newell ;  and  a  vision  of  gentleness  and  almost  an- 
gelic sweetness  came  too  near  his  heart  for  its  own  peace. 
Again,  Nettie,  with  her  sweet,  pensive  face,  would  stand 
before  him,  as  a  reproof  to  his  wandering  fancies. 

He  knew  Miss  Newell  possessed  all  that  he  could  desire 
in  a -wife,  and  felt  that  he  was  largely  indebted  to  her 
father  for  valuable  introductions  and  political  influence, 
•which  had  served  to  facilitate  his  progress.  Socially,  the 
civilities  extended  to  him  by  persons  of  talent  and  worth 
were  in  part  owing  to  Mr.  Newell's  friendship.  He  fully 
intended  some  day  to  offer  his  heart  and  hand  to  Kllie 
Newell.  But  life  had  suddenly  put  on  a  new  aspect. 


272  SELF-MADE,   OR 


CHAPTER    XXX. 
THE  FIRST  LOVE  IS  THE  LAST  LOVE. 

"  The  love  that  is  kept  in  the  beauty  of  trust 
Cannot  pass  like  the  foam  from  the  seas, 
Or  a  mark  that  the  finger  hath  traced  in  the  dust 
Where  'tis  swept  by  the  breath  of  the  breeze." 

MRS.  WELBY. 

I  ARK  MILLER'S  visits  to  the  house  of  Mr. 
Strange  were  now  of  daily  occurrence,  his 
coming  and  going  looked  for  as  a  thing  of 
course,  and  commented  upon  by  the  good  peo- 
ple, until  each  had  things  fixed  up  to  his  or  her  own 
peculiar  liking. 

Day  by  day  he  detected  a  growing  interest,  a  new  pleas- 
ure, in  the  society  of  Nettie ;  and  at  length  she  held  a  per- 
manent place  in  his  thoughts.  To  his  surprise  he  found 
nothing  vulgar  or  unbecoming  in  the  manners  or  mind  of 
his  old  friend ;  but  every  day  brought  with  it  new  discov- 
eries of  the  charming  graces  of  both.  He  indulged  without 
reserve  in  the  pleasure  which  her  presence  afforded  him, 
and  soon  found  his  growing  admiration  fast  ripening  into  a 
warmer  sentiment.  Her  manner  was  frank  and  natural, 
her  judgment  mature  ;  and  he  marvelled  much  at  the  fit- 
ness of  her  language,  and  the  pure,  refined  ideas  it  clothed. 
As  nothing  more  or  better  than  these  did  his  heart  demand 
in  a  wife,  he  determined  to  win  her  love,  and  make  her  his 
own. 

She  felt  in  her  heart  that  her  affection  for  him  was  daily 


LIVING   FOR   THOSE   WE   LOVE.  273 

strengthened,  and  that  the  cold  indifference  with  which  she 
at  first  imagined  he  treated  her,  had  long  since  melted  away, 
like  the  little  snowy  pinnacle,  which,  twelve  years  before, 
she  saw,  in  the  soft  moonlight  of  that  starry  evening,  dis- 
solve itself  into  tiny  fragments  of  shining  crystal.  Although 
she  could  not  but  be  aware  of  Mark's  growing  interest  in 
her,  she  determined  that  no  act  or  word  of  hers  should  be- 
tray him  into  an  expression  of  his  attachment ;  that  no  arts 
of  hers  should  be  brought  to  bear  upon,  or  influence  in  any 
way,  his  finer  feelings,  or  bias  his  better  judgment. 

A  startled  look  greeted  Mark  as  he  one  day  stood  at  the 
stile,  and  parted  the  green  boughs  of  the  old  grape-vine,  and 
seated  himself  beside  Nettie,  who  looked  up  timidly  through 
the  gathering  twilight  shadows  to  greet  her  visitor. 

"  I  have  been  at  the  house,  waiting  for  you,"  said  he, 
"  but  you  did  not  come ;  and  instinct*  or  some  powerful 
charm,  directed  my  footsteps  hither.  Did  you  wish  to 
shun  me?  Was  I  to  go  away  on  the  morrow  without  a 
kind  farewell  from  all  my  friends,  and  from  you  especially, 
the  dearest  and  best?" 

There  was  something  in  the  tone  in  which  this  was  said 
so  earnest,  so  pathetic,  and  withal  so  sweet  and  sad,  it  made 
Nettie's  heart  beat  violently ;  and  the  embarrassment  she 
now  felt  in  his  presence  was  manifesting  itself  in  the  droop- 
ing eyes  and  blushing  cheek,  while  a  rich  glow  crept  slowly 
over  his  own. 

Nettie  looked  at  Mark  with  a  strange  sort  of  bewilder- 
ment, in  which  doubt  and  fear,  pain  and  pleasure,  struggled 
for  the  mastery,  while  he  poured  into  her  not  unwilling  ear 
the  story  of  his  love ;  and  to  the  words,  "  I  must  be  a  loiu-Iy 
wanderer  wherever  I  am,  or  whatever  I  may  become,  unk-ss 
I  have  your  counsels  to  guide  me,  your  love  to  strengthen 
me, "and  your  faithful  heart  to  lean  upon,"  she  replied  with 
her  characteristic  humility  and  self-depreciation. 
iS 


274  SELF-MADE,   OR 

"  I  know  not  whether  the  feeling  I  cherish  towards  you 
deserves  the  name  of  love.  I  have  read  of  it  in  books,  and 
have  seen  it  exemplified  in  the  holy  bond  that  unites  the 
living  and  the  dead,  but  scarcely  thought  of  it  as  connected 
with  myself.  I  did  not  suppose  there  was  a  being  in  the 
world  who  could  love  me" 

But  as  her  blue  eyes  and  the  radiant  smile  on  her  pure 
lips  uttered  the  responsive  "  yes,"  which  was  to  seal  their 
betrothment,  and  make  their  paths  in  life  one,  she  appeared 
to  him  the  pure  ideal  of  all  he  ever  dreamed  of  noble  wo- 
man—  one  who  could  make  her  home  a  place  of  blissful 
repose,  and  her  husband's  heart  a  sacred  shrine,  where 
would  be  hoarded  away  the  best  and  purest  of  her  affec- 
tions ;  her  own,  sanctified  by  an  unswerving  trust,  and  hal- 
lowed by  a  perfect  love  and  perfect  faith  —  one  who  would 
add  to  the  strength  of  his  character  by  the  strength  and 
beauty  of  her  own. 

That  night  Nettie  pressed  a  sleepless,  dreamless  pillow, 
except  when  she  dreamed  over  again  that  one  long  blissful, 
day-dream,  which  was  to  be,  thenceforth,  no  dream,  but  a 
reality. 

No  doubt  of  Mark's  love  or  sincerity  crossed  her  mind ; 
and  if,  in  an  unguarded  moment,  the  spectre  stood  before  her, 
it  was  only  to  make  her  doubt  her  own  efficiency  and  power 
to  keep  bright  the  flame  of  love  that  must  forever  feed  his 
life.  Some  there  were  who  wondered  how  one  they  consid- 
ered so  far  her  superior,  so  noble  in  character,  so  refined 
and  graceful  in  person,  so  beloved  and  honoured  by  all, 
whose  praises  were  sung  by  the  passing  breeze,  who  knew 
of  the  old  days  of  friendless  poverty,  could  either  admire  or 
love  her.  Respect  her  he  might  and  did,  they  were  sure, 
for  all  respected  her  nowadays ;  but  would  not  the  memory 
of  those  days  dampen  the  joy  of  his  young  life,  should  he 
link  that  life  with  hers?  They  little  knew  that  this  was  the 
magic  power  which  had  started  into  being  the  half-forgotten 


LIVING   FOR   THOSE   WE   LOVE.  275 

boy-dreams.'  In  the  scenes  gone  by  which  haunted  his 
lonely  hours,  in  the  busy  multitude  of  the  great  city,  or  the 
more  secluded  years  of  college  life,  the  home  of  Nettie 
Strange  arose  oftenest,  and  her  name  repeated  itself  more 
distinctly  than  any  other.  The  far-oflf  days  of  the  past,  with 
all  their  painful  reminiscences,  swept  into  the  nearness  of 
yesterday,  when  the  one  true  friend  of  his  friendless  years 
stood  before  him  in  her  patient  dignity  and  womanly  pride, 
self-made  and  self-reliant. 

He  reverenced  the  woman  for  what  she  was.  He  knew 
she  had  made  herself,  and  his  profound  appreciation  of  those 
very  elements  in  her  character  first  led  him  to  think  of  her 
as  a  wife.  He  permitted  no  shallow  prejudice  to  govern 
him,  and  resolved  that  no  fear  of  what  the  world  might  say 
should  influence  him  in  his  choice. 

The  curiosity  of  the  good  people  of  Sorrel  Hill  still  con- 
tinued to  be  rife,  and  Mrs.  Miller  was  appealed  to  for  the 
confirmation  of  their  worst  fears;  but  all  they  could  get 
from  her  was,  that  "  she  hoped  it  would  be  so."  They  saw 
that  the  mother  knew  all,  and  was  evidently  happy  in  the 
knowledge.  They  saw,  too,  that  any  further  comment,  or 
any  interference,  would  be  utterly  useless ;  and  ere  the  wed- 
ding day  dawned,  the  shock  which  their  sensitive  nerves  at 
first  received  gave  place  to  a  more  just  and  reasonable  feel- 
ing, and  finally  the  match  came  to  be,  with  few  excep- 
tions, regarded  with  favour. 

Mark  took  his  departure  for  Albany  on  the  following 
morning,  his  mother  remaining  until  after  the  wedding.  In 
little  less  than  a  month  they  were  married. 

How  noble  and  beautiful  they  looked  as  they  stood  before 
the  man  of  God,  who  pronounced  those  few  solemn  words 
that  made  them  one  ! 

Her  face  was  full  of  sweet,  serene  gravity,  and  his 
with  a  kind  of  happiness  that  did  not  depend  on  what  others 
might  think  of  it. 


276  SELF-MADE,    OR 

The  wedding  was  to  be  as  private  as  possible.  So  they 
had  arranged.  But  ho  ;  the  good  people  would  not  have  it 
thus.  As  Mr.  Miller's  coming  had  been  an  event  much 
thought  off,  could  his  marriage  be  less  so?  All  Sorrel  Hill 
took  a  holiday.  The  majority  with  no  affected  pleasure,  but 
with  heartfelt  rejoicing,  came  to  offer  their  sincere  congrat- 
ulations, to  honour  this  crowning  event  in  the  life  of  him 
they  so  truly  loved,  and  who,  they  felt,  would  ever  be  an 
honour  to  them  and  to  the  country. 

Again  were  banners  streaming  in  the  soft  morning  air ; 
again  were  arches  of  evergreen,  with  their  significant  mot- 
toes, erected  over  the  principal  thoroughfares.  Even  Helen 
Maynard,  who  had  recovered  somewhat  from  the  stupefac- 
tion into  which  this  event  had  thrown  her,  concluded,  at  the 
last  moment,  to  do  as  the  others  did  ;  and  for  appearance' 
sake  she  permitted  her  father  to  run  up,  over  his  store,  a 
flag  of  truce,  in  shape  of  a  little  piece  of  bunting  made  that 
morning  of  red  and  white  cotton.  She  had  not  time  to  sew 
on  the  stars,  and  the  whole  was  basted  together  so  shabbily, 
that  long  before  night  each  red  and  white  strip  was  flapping 
forth  its  joy  on  its  own  individual  responsibility,  greatly  to  the 
amusement  of  all  beholders,  and  much  to  her  disgust.  What 
more  could  she  do  to  let  them  know  that  her  heart  was  not 
broken,  and  to  show  her  respect  to  the  bride  and  groom? 

A  winter  at  Washington  loomed  up  in  the  distance.  She 
would  commence  a  correspondence  as  soon  as  they  had  set- 
tled, and  they  would  show  their  characteristic  meanness  if 
they  did  not  invite  her  to  pay  them  a  visit.  After  revolving 
in  her  mind  varipus  ways  in  which  she  could  bestow  a  small 
bridal  favour,  she  concluded  to  send  a  bouquet  for  the  bride, 
and  a  rose  for  Mark's  button-hole.  Accordingly  the  little 
front  yard  was  rifled  of  some  of  its  choicest  treasures.  Buds 
half  blown  blushed  their  sweetest  in  the  midst  of  sweet  elys- 
ian,  and  rose  geranium  very  beautiful  and  very  appropri- 
ate for  a  centre-table,  where  it  was  placed  as  soon  as  it 


LIVING   FOR   THOSE   WE   LOVE.  277 

arrived.  A  half-blown  cabbage  rose  was  despatched  at  the 
same  time,  with  a  request  that  her  "dear  friend"  should 
wear  it,  as  directed;  but  when  he  appeared  at  the  little 
church,  leading  his  bride  up  the  aisle  to  the  altar,  where 
their  solemn  vows  were  pledged,  without  it,  she  never  re- 
membered to  have  been  so  agitated  or  so  confounded. 

She  put  on  her  blandest  smile,  however,  and  was  among 
the  first  to  press  forward,  and  offer  her  congratulations.  She 
looked  him  full  in  the  face,  and,  so  far  as  he  could  see,  there 
was  no  pang  of  regret,  no  trace  of  bitter  disappointment. 
The  expression  of  his  lips  softened  to  pity,  when  he  replied 
to  her  meaningless  salutation ;  and  as  she  could  think  of 
nothing  further  to  say,  and  others  crowded  around  and  jos- 
tled her  quite  out  of  the  way,  she  soon  took  her  leave.  The 
wedding  was  an  unusually  large  one.  Indeed,  all  Sorrel 
Hill  was  present.  A  few,  who  had  marriageable  daughters, 
were  still  disposed  to  remain  at  the  church,  and  gossip  con- 
cerning this  singular  choice  of  his.  "  There  must  be  some 
mystery  connected  with  it;  time  would  show,"  said  they. 
"  If  it  had  been  anybody  but  her ; "  "I  never  would  have 
believed  it,  had  I  not  seen  it  with  my  own  eyes ; "  and  much 
more  to  the  same  purport. 

The  unaccountable  fact  was  undeniable  ;  but  to  them  there 
seemed  to  be  some  mystery  surrounding  it,  yet  to  be  dis- 
pelled. 

The  wedding  guests  returned  to  the  house  of  Mr.  Strange, 
where  a  large  quantity  of  bride-cake  was  served,  and  where 
the  newly-married  pair  received  the  heartfelt  congratulations 
of  their  true  friends. 

"  What  .a  noble  pair ! "  said  one  ;  "  She's  just  the  wife  for 
him,"  responded  another ;  and  all  concluded  that  the  wedding 
was  a  grand  affair.  Certainly  Sorrel  Hill  had  never  seen 
anything  like  it. 

Apart  from  the  company,  Mr.  Miller  found  an  opportunity 
to  utter  a  few  words,  such  as  young  brides  seldom,  if  ever, 
forget. 


278  SELF-MADE,    OR 

"  My  own  darling  Nettie,  my  beloved  wife,  I  bless  thee 
for  the  great  happiness  of  this  hour,  the  crowning  glory  of 
my  life.  Take  my  mother's  and  my  sainted  father's  blessing 
also.  May  it  rest  upon  you  always." 

His  happy,  excited  manner  gave  an  exalted  tone  to  his 
voice,  and  the  words  stole  like  a  benediction  into  her  heart. 
The  white  dove  of  peace  was  forever  to  nestle  in  downy  soft- 
ness there. 

In  the  evening  the  old  mansion  of  Deacon  Sloper  is  bril- 
liantly illuminated.  Its  many  windows  send  their  festive 
radiance  over  nearly  the  whole  town.  Even  the  great  maples 
on  the  Common  blaze  with  lamps  which  add  to  the  splendor 
of  the  scene. 

When  Nettie  threw  herself  upon  her  father's  neck,  at 
parting,  she  could  not  say  many  words ;  tears  and  sobs 
choked  them  back.  But  her  faith  in  her  father  was  strong 
and  firm  :  for  ten  years  he  had  been  the  sober,  industrious 
man  he  now  was,  and  she  was  confident  that  he  would  prove 
himself  worthy  to  be  loved,  to  the  end  of  his  life.  She 
wondered  if,  in  all  the  years  that  they  had  lived  there  to- 
gether,—  isolated  from  the  world,  as  it  were,  —  a  thought 
had  ever  crossed  his  mind  that  she  had  been  otherwise  than 
happy.  She  hoped  not. 

In  a  few  days  they  were  gone  ;  but  long  after  their  depart- 
ure, and  when  life  at  Sorrel  Hill  went  on  again  as  before, 
the  events  of  the  few  past  weeks  seemed  like  some  pleasant 
romance,  but  all  were  proud  and  happy  that  it  was  a  living 
reality. 

Helen  Maynard  waited  for  years,  thinking  to  make  a 
splendid  match,  and  just  escaped  being  an  old  maid  by 
marrying  her  father's  clerk,  a  very  worthy  man,  who  de- 
served a  better  fate.  She  looked  charming  in  her  splendid 
bridal  attire,  and  presided  over  her  small  house  with  becom- 
ing graciousness,  ever  mindful  of  her  dignity,  and  the  irn- 


LIVING   FOR   THOSE   WE   LOVE.  27a 

portance  of  maintaining  her  superiority  over  those  in  humble 
life.  From  her  works  we  may  best  understand  the  purposes 
of  her  own. 

"  Our  story  is  drawing  to  a  close,"  said  good  aunt  Bessie, 
as  we  were  seated  for  the  last  time  at  the  little  round  table 
in  the  cheerful  antique  chamber  which  had  for  years  been 
the  retired  home,  and  was  to  be  ere  long  the  dying-place  of 
our  beloved  ancestress. 

The  moisture  gathered  in  her  eyes^vhen  she  said,  "  The 
old  graveyard  at  Sorrel  Hill  does  not  now  wear  so  gloomy 
and  desolate  an  aspect.  It  has  a  neat  white  paling,  and  very 
handsome  arched  gateway,  thanks  to  Mr.  Miller's  generosity. 
Many  of  the  little  hillocks  are  clothed  with  verdure,  bright 
flowers  are  bursting  into  blossom,  and  birds  are  singing  in 
the  drooping  willows,  and  the  '  trees  of  heaven '  that  have 
been  planted  there.  I  would  wish  my  body  to  rest  there, 
when  my  spirit  has  no  more  to  do  with  earth." 

"  It  shall  be  even  so,  dear  aunt  Bessie." 

Old  Mrs.  Miller  lived  with  her  son  and  daughter  many 
years,  blessed  beyond  measure  in  that  she  realized  in  Nettie 
all  that  her  fondest  wishes  could  desire. 

Mrs.  Miller,  the  younger,,  was  ever  an  active  woman  in 
all  deeds  of  piety  and  benevolence,  presiding,  with  an  easy 
grace  and  unaffected  simplicity,  at  the  elegant  festivities 
which  were  given  at  their  splendid  mansion,  supporting 
the  dignity  pertaining  to  office  with  becoming  fortitude  and 
resignation,  never  having  been  known  to  complain  of  the 
honours  and  the  privileges  which  power  confers,  and  the  many 
blessings  she  ever  after  enjoyed.  But  she  often  sighed  for 
the  retirement  of  private  life,  and  the  genuine  happiness  a 
humbler  sphere  affords. 

Her  ideas  of  what  is  termed  " high  life"  were  very ^rnuch 
in  contrast  with  those  of  women  enjoying  "  position  "  gen- 


280  SELF-MADE. 

erally.  Her  well-regulated  mind  shrank  from  ostentatious 
display,  and  from  devoting  time  to  the  claims  of  the  gay 
world,  which,  she  said,  might  be  better  employed.  Both 
were  alike  distasteful  to  her,  while  the  blessings  which 
wealth  confers  were  properly  appreciated  and  employed. 
By  her  works  and  words  she  won  many  thoughtless  souls 
to  admire  the  "  beauty  of  holiness." 

In  a  letter  written  to  her  old'  friends,  Deacon  and  Mrs. 
Sloper,  a  year  after  her  marriage,  she  said,  — 

"  In  the  happiness  that  I  now  enjoy,  I  would  not  be  so 
thoughtless  as  to  forget  the  sorrows  of  others,  nor  so  selfish 
as  to  hope  for  no  cloud  to  shadow  my  pathway.  I  would 
have  grace  given  me  to  kiss  the  cross  when  sorrow  comes ; 
to  be  careful  and  thoughtful  for  others'  happiness  more  than 
my  own  ;  to  live  in  and  use  this  beautiful  world  as  though 
it  were  not  given  me  for  merely  temporal  objects  and  selfish 
gratifications,  but  because  it  is  the  threshold  of  another  and 
higher  existence.  I  bless  God  that  He  has  given  me  strength 
to  endure,  and  to  be  of  use  to  those  around  me,  while  I  pass 
through  this  life  to  the  life  immortal." 


THE  END. 


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Sotto*  Evening 


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The  Zife  and  betters  of  ftev.  Geo.  7f. 

thune,  3).  2).  By  Eev.  ABRAHAM  E.  VAN  NEST, 
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hearts  of  all  with  whom  he  came  in  contact. 

tDr.  3?ethune's  Theology,  or  EXPOSITORY  LECTURES 
ON  THE  HEIDELBERG  CATECHISM.  By  GEO.  W.  BETHUNE, 
D.D.  Two  vols.,  crown  octavo  (Riverside  edition), 
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deep  and  abiding  piety. 

"  When  the  Eev.  Dr.  Bethune,  whose  memory  is  yet  green 
and  fragrant  in  the  Church,  was  about  to  leave  this  country, 
he  committed  his  manuscripts  to  a  few  friends,  giving  them 
discretionary  power  with  regard  to  their  publication.  Among 
them  was  the  great  work  of  his  life  ;  in  his  opinion  the  work, 
and  that  from  which  he  hoped  the  most  usefulness  while  he 
lived,  and  after  he  was  dead,  if  it  should  then  be  given  to 
the  press.  This  work  was  his  course  of  lectures  on  the 
Catechism  of  the  Church  in  which  he  was  a  burning  aad 
shining;  light.  —  Nfw  York  O&WfWf. 


10  SHELDON   &  COMPANY'S 

SPURGEON'S   WORKS.-Continued. 

Fourth  Series.  Revised  by  the  Author,  and  published  with 
hia  sanction.  Containing  twenty-six  Sermons,  pp.  450. 
Price,  $1.50. 

Fifth  Series.  Revised  by  the  Author,  and  published  with  hia 
sanction.  Illustrated  with  a  fine  steel  plate  representing  the 
Rev.  C.  H.  Spurgeon  preaching  in  Surrey  Music  Hall.  One 
vol.,  12mo.  Price,  $1.50. 

Sixth  Series.  Revised  by  the  Author,  and  published  with  his 
sanction.  Illustrated  with  a  fine  steel  plate  of  Mr.  Spurgeon's 
new  Tabernacle.  One  vol.,  12mo.  Price,  $1.50. 

Seventh  Series.  Containing  some  of  Mr.  Spurgeon's  later  and 
more  brilliant  Sermons.  One  vol.,  12mo.  Price,  $1.50. 

Eighth  Series.  Containing  Spurgeon's  celebrated  Doctrinal 
Discourses,  which  made  a  most  profound  impression  through- 
out England.  One  vol.,  12mo.,  cloth.  Price,  $1.50. 

Morning  by  Morning,  or  3)aily  Bible  lead- 
ings. By  Rev.  C.  H.  SPUBGEON.  One  voL,  12mo. 
Price,  $1.75. 

"  Though  no  printed  sermon  can  give  a  perfect  representa- 
tion of  the  same  thing  spoken  by  an  eloquent  and  impas- 
sioned orator,  yet  the  reader  of  these  will  not  wonder  at  their 
author's  popularity.  Though  he  may  not  sympathize  with 
Mr.  Spurgeon's  theological  opinions,  he  can  not  fail  to  see 
that  the  preacher  is  really  in  earnest,  that  he  heartily  believes 
what  he  says,  and  knows  how  to  say  it  in  a  way  to  arouse 
and  keep  alive  the  attention  of  his  hearers." — Boston  Adver- 
tiser. 

3The  Sai?il  and  JEfis  Saviour.     By  the  Rev.  C.  H. 

SPUKGEON.     One  vol.,  12mo.     Price,  $1.50. 

This  is  the  first  extended  religious  work  by  this  distin- 
guished preacher,  and  one  which  in  its  fervid  devotional 
spirit,  the  richness  of  its  sentiments,  and  the  beauty  of  its 
imagery,  fully  sustains  his  high  reputation.. 

Spurgeon's  Gems.  Being  Brilliant  Passages  from 
the  Sermons  of  the  Rev.  C.  H.  SPUBGEON,  of  Lon- 
don. One  vol.,  12mo.  Price,  $1.50. 

"  The  Publishers  present  this  book  ns  a  specimen  of  Mr. 
Spurgeon's  happiest  thoughts, — gems  from  his  discourses, — 
which  will  glow  in  the  mind  of  the  reader,  and  quicken  in 
him  a  desire  to  read  and  hear  more  of  this  remarkable  youth- 
ful preacher. 


STANDARD   AND   MISCELLANEOUS   BOOKS.  9 

JVeander's  (Planting  and  Trai?iing  of  the 
Christian  Church  by  the  Apostles.  Trans- 
lated from  the  Gorman  by  J.  E.  EYLAND.  Trans- 
lation revised  and  corrected  according  to  the  fourth 
Grerinan  edition.  By  E.  G-.  ROBINSON,  D.D.,  Pro- 
fessor in  the  Rochester  Theological  Seminary.  One 
vol.,  octavo,  cloth.  Price,  $4.00. 

"The  patient  scholarship,  the  critical  sagacity,  and  the 
simple  and  unaffected  piety  of  the  author,  are  manifest 
throughout.  Such  a  history  should  find  a  place  in  the  library 
of  every  one  who  seeks  a  familiar  knowledge  of  the  early 
shaping  of  the  Christian  Churches.  An  excellent  index  adds 
to  its  value." — Evangelist. 

Zlhislrations .  Being  a  Store-house  of  Simi- 
lies,  Allegories,  and  Anecdotes — with  an  introduc- 
tion by  RICHAKD  NEWTON,  D.D.  One  vol.,  12ino. 
Price,  $1.50.  Every  Sabbath  School  teacher  should 
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"  It  is  impossible  not  to  commend  a  book  like  this." — Ed- 
itor of  Encyc.  of  Religious  Knowledge. 

"  We  think  that  Sabbath  School  teachers  especially  would 
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help  to  point  the  arrow  of  the  preacher." — Christian  Herald. 


SPURGEON'S  WORKS. 

Sermons  of  the  32ev.  C.  IT.  Spurgion,  of  Lon- 
don, in  uniform  styles  of  binding. 

First  Series.  With  an  Introduction  and  Sketch  of  Ms  Life,  by 
the  Eev.  E.  L.  MAGOON,  D.D.  With  a  fine  steel-plate  Por- 
trait. One  vol.,  12mo.,  pp.  400.  Price,  $1.50. 

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Third  Series.  Revised  by  the  Author,  and  published  with  his 
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Hall,  London,  engraved  expressly  for  the  volume.  Price,  $1.50. 


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Biblical  Commentary  on  the  New  Testament. 

By  Dr.  HERMAN?  OLSEAUSEN.  Continued  after  his 
death  by  Ebrard  aud  Wiesinger.  Carefully  revised, 
after  the  last  German  Edition,  by  A.  C.  KI^DEICK, 
D.D.,  Greek  Professor  in  the  University  of  Koch- 
ester.  Six  vols.,  large  octavo.  Price,  cloth,  $18.00. 
"  I  regard  the  Commentary  as  the  most  valuable  of  those 
on  the  New  Testament  in  the  English  language,  happily 
combining  the  religious  spirit  of  the  English  expositors  with 
the  critical  learning  of  the  German.  The  American  editor 
has  evidently  performed  his  task  well,  as  might  be  expected 
from  his  eminent  qualifications." — President  Sears,  of  Broom 
University. 

The  Annotated  ^Paragraph  Bible.  According 
to  the  authorized  version,  arranged  in  Paragraphs 
and  Parallelisms,  with  Explanatory  Notes,  Prefaces 
to  the  several  Books,  and  an  entirely  new  Selection 
of  References  to  Parallel  and  Illustrative  Passages. 
An  issue  of  the  London  Religious  Tract  Society, — 
republished.  Complete  in  one  royal  octavo  volume, 
with  Maps,  &c.  Price,  library  sheep,  $8.00. 

The  Annotated  (Paragraph  New  Testament* 

In  one  octavo  volume,  uniform  style.     Price,  mus- 
lin, 82.50. 

"  I  have  carefully  examined  a  considerable  portion  of  the 
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fuse a  knowledge  of  the  Word  of  God.  I  heartily  recommend 
it  to  Christians  of  every  denomination,  and  especially  to 
teachers  of  Bible  Classes  and  Sabbath  Schools,  to  whom  it 
will  prove  an  invaluable  aid."— Ren.  Dr.  Wayland. 

Tfiolucfc  on  the  Gospel  of  Jotin .  Translated  by 
CHABLES  J.  EJIAUTH,  D.D.  One  vol.,  octavo.  Price, 
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tion."— BibliotJieca  Sacra. 


STANDARD   AND   MISCELLANEOUS   BOOKS.  7 

laird's  Classical  Manual.  By  JAMES  S.  S.  BAIED, 
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It  is  an  epitome  of  Ancient  Geography,  Greek  and  Roman 
Mythology,  Antiquities,  and  Chronology. 

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JETelps  to  the  (Pulpit.  Sketches  and  Skeletons  of 
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A  Text-Book  of  t?ie  Jlistory  of  Christian 
(Doctrines.  By  K.  K.  HAGENBACH,  Professor  of 
Theology  in  the  University  of  Basle.  The  Edin- 
burgh translation  of  C.  W.  Buch,  revised,  with 
large  Additions  from  the  fourth  German  Edition, 
and  other  sources,  by  HENKY  B.  SMITH,  D.D.,  Pro- 
fessor in  the  Union  Theological  Seminary  of  the 
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cloth,  86.00. 

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Christian  Doctrines  which  Protestant  literature  has  as  yet 
produced." — Methodist,  N.  T. 


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Jlfi'lman's  Latin  Christianity.  History  of  Latin 
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Macaulay."  —  MercersbuTg  Review. 


Fleming's  Vocabulary  of  Philosophy. 

Additions  by  CHARLES  P.  EJKAUTH,  D.D.    Small  8vo. 
Price,  $2.50. 

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terly. 


Long's    Classical  Atlas.     Constructed  by 

HUGHES  and  edited  by  GEORGE  LONG,  with  a  Sketch 
of  Classical  Geography.  With  fifty-two  Maps,  and 
an  Index  of  Places. 

This  Atlas  will  be  an  invaluable  aid  i 
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dent.  One  vol.,  quarto.  Price,  $4.50. 

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STANDARD  AND   MISCELLANEOUS  BOOKS.  5 

£lfe  of  George  Washington.  By  EDWARD  EVERETT, 
LL.D.  YvTith  a  sleei-pLite  Likeness  of  Mr.  Everett, 
from  the  celebrated  bust  by  Hiram  Powers.  One 
vol.,  12mo.,.  pp.  348.  Price,  cloth,  $1.50. 

"The  biography  is  a  model  of  condensation,  and,  by  its 
rapid  narrative  and  attractive  style,  must  commend  itself  to 
the  mass  of  readers  as  the  standard  popular  Life  of  Wash' 
ington." — Correspondence  of  the  Boston  Post. 

The  Science  of  Government,  in  connection 
with  American  Institutions.  By  JOSEPH  An> 
DEN,  D.D.,  LL.D.,  President  of  State  Normal  School, 
Albany.  One  vol.,  12mo.  Price,  $1.50.  Adapted 
to  the  wants  of  High  Schools  and  Colleges. 

A.2den'  s  Citizen' s  Manual.  A  Text-Book  on  Gov- 
ernment in  connection  with  American  Institutions, 
adapted  to  the  'wants  of  Common  Schools.  It  is  in 
the  form  of  questions  and  answers.  By  JOSEPH 
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School,  Albany.  In  one  vol.,  16mo.  Price,  50  cts. 

"  There  is  no  more  important  secular  study  than  the  study 
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as  the  volume  before  us." — New  York  Independent. 

Macau2qy's  JZssays.  The  Critical,  Historical,  and 
Miscellaneous  Essays  of  the  Eight  Hon.  THOMAS 
BABINGTON  MACAULAY,  with  an  Introduction  and  Bio- 
graphical Sketch  of  the  Author,  by  E.  P.  WHIFFLE, 
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aulay,  and  a  complete  index.  Six  vols.,  crown 
octavo.  Price,  on  tinted  paper,  extra  cloth,  $13.50; 
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DAVID  P.  CONYNGB-AM.     12zno.,  cloth.     Price,  $1.75. 

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